An Elder Scrolls Saga: Part 3 - Of Tooth and Nail
by Jupitus Garth
Summary: In eastern High Rock, two await those that may not exist. In Northern Skyrim, two groups are looking for answers to two very different questions, and in Morrowind a journey starts anew. Follows on from An Elder Scrolls Saga: Part 2 - A Dagger in the Wind.
1. Chapter 1

The Following story takes place in the months of Rain's Hand and Second Seed, 4E-182. 19 years before the events of Skyrim.

The Elder Scrolls belongs to Bethesda. No copyright infringement intended.

**A/N**

My goal is to post two chapters a week starting from June. With ten days to go till then, I decided to release the prologue/chapter one. Conjoined because it's easier to edit later.

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Prologue**

As the lone pale ghostly lady looked down over the house which lay alone near a massive dry-dock, she couldn't help but feel a great sadness build up inside her. A sadness so potent that it threatened to crush her very soul.

The lady looked down at her translucent, white velvet-like hand. She was dead. She had died the night the young Orc had come to Rorikstead where she had been living. Yet something was keeping her spirit here on this world, stopping her from crossing over into the next.

Nora believed that she knew what it was. Somehow the young Orc needed some guidance, and the Gods had thought her the one to fulfil that role. Nora had done what she could, helping young Magoza whenever she could, which was when whomever was keeping her here on Nirn had allowed it.

Her purpose here, she ultimately didn't know. There were tales and legends of those that were blessed by the divines, those that grew to do great things. Somehow though, this didn't feel quite like that.

The ghostly Nord focused back on the house in the distance. Inside, she knew lay her ex-husband Achilles. They had lived happily together once, and it had been like a fairytale. She being a poor-girl, the daughter of a disgraced businessman and he a rich nobleman; a shipbuilder that had been on the cusp of breaking into fame with the grandness of his constructs.

Unfortunately their marriage hadn't lasted. He had dreams, or rather visions that had pushed them apart. After all this time, she found that they might be real, that whatever he saw when he closed his eyes at night was true.

Nora wondered if her dying on the day the Orc had arrived, or even that her marriage and its ultimate failure had been fate. Part of some divine plane that none but the Gods knew.

Regardless of what conspiracies true or untrue her stray thoughts might conjure, she just hoped that when this was over that she would pass into Aetherius and when his time came, that Achilles would join her there hand in hand.

But she didn't want to wait, even if it was only for mere moments more. She wanted to see him now, she wanted to see whether he had turned out all right, to see that he was okay. Something stopped her though, something held her here, blocking her advancement so that she could get no closer. It was frustrating, but there was not really much that she could do about it.

Suddenly, she felt herself being pulled away, as if something had gripped her very soul. Everything around her grew bright until all she could see was white.

* * *

**Chapter I**

He had sat there moping for what must have been well over a month now. It was odd for one to see an Orc unmotivated, especially one so large, heavily built and scarred as the one that sat on the porch out front of the house. Burag, who was dressed in a cloth shirt and black pants, stared at the _Explorer's Joy _that lay in a large dry-dock, its completion all but finished.

Achilles, an elderly, grey balding Cyrodilic man, turned away from the window as Arlianna, the woman Malthar his aid had hired to take care of him called his name in her usual screechy way.

The reason Malthar wasn't here was because he had sent him to Jehanna to wait for the people he saw in his dreams. While he knew the young Breton didn't truly believe his visions were of anything special, he was loyal and had agreed to traverse across to the other-side of High Rock to wait for people he didn't believe even existed.

"Mister Mellano!" Arlianna said again, uttering Achilles' surname, her peculiarly high voice raised to glass shattering levels. "Are you ignoring me again?"

"I would if it were possible," he mumbled to himself. The woman was trying his patience no end. All she did was either pamper him, or boss him about. He wasn't fond of either, and preferred to be more autonomous.

"Have you gone deaf!?" she asked, once again interrupting his thoughts.

He looked at her with his best fake smile. "What is it you want deary?" he asked, hoping his overly patronising tone of voice would annoy her.

"Don't 'deary' me," she warned. "I just wanted to know where that thing had gone?" The 'thing' in question was Burag. She didn't care much for Orc kind, but the way she addressed him when she believed he wasn't in earshot was rather rude and unnecessary.

Achilles feigned ignorance regarding what, or rather who she meant. "Did you look behind the cupboards, you might have dropped your 'thing' down there."

"I haven't lost anything Mister Mellano."

"Oh, my apologies," he said, scratching his upper lip to hide the smirk that threatened to cross his face.

"I mean that Orc," she clarified unnecessarily. "Where is he?"

"Outside, sat in a chair on the porch," Achilles told her.

"What's he doing there?" she questioned suspiciously.

"Looking at the ship, or perhaps he's looking out to sea."

"I bet he's planning something. Things like that are _always _planning something."

"Oh, don't talk such nonsense woman!" Achilles uttered. "All he's doing is sitting."

"That's _all_ he does!" she accused. "Just sit around the house, secretly planning our demise."

"Well he's not doing that now,"

Arlianna walked over to the window and peered out at Burag, as he faced away from them, looking in the direction of the dry-docked ship. "That's exactly what he's doing!"

"He's not sitting around the house, he's sitting _outside_ the house."

The Breton woman grumbled before moving off, grabbing a broomstick. "I'm off to go clean the porch. There's something stuck on it."

"Just mind that you don't bump into Burag while you're cleaning it," he said, knowing full well that by 'clean' she meant move Burag from his perch.

She ignored him as she stepped out the front door. A few moments later, Burag entered and sat at the table, followed soon after by Arlianna, who began to sweep around his heels, until he moved again.

Achilles smiled, knowing that she didn't really want to raise the Orc's ire. "Burag," he called out.

The Orc looked at him, his red eyes piercing. He said nothing, as he awaited for the elderly man to continue.

"I noticed earlier that some of the tiles on the roof were coming loose. Would you mind trying to fix them back into place?"

"Yeah sure," Burag mumbled as he strode out of the house.

Arlianna glared at Achilles. "Now look what you've done!" she accused.

"What?" he asked.

"He's probably going to smash the roof down trying to fix it."

"Don't worry, Orcs are good with tools."

"I doubt he even knows which way to hold a hammer," she said derisively.

Her insulting tone was starting to really annoy him. "Come now, we both know the Orcs are renowned for their skills with tools, they are said to be the best smith's in Tamriel."

"Folks say that, but I'm not so sure. Besides even if that were true, I doubt all Orcs would be good smiths. That's like saying all Bretons are good with magic, and I don't know squat about magic."

"Quite right on that I suppose. Luckily nailing tiles down isn't nearly as complicated as smithing, so I'm sure he won't have any trouble."

"You say that, but he doesn't look too bright."

Achilles turned away from her. "Look who's talking," he mumbled. He couldn't say he liked her very much, and the only reason he kept her around was because he knew he did actually need assistance now and again. Achilles just wished it wasn't from her.

"I tell you, Mister Mellano, I don't trust that thing, and you shouldn't either."

Achilles was starting to wish he'd gone with Malthar and his friend Cassiopia to Jehanna. It was too late now, they were probably already there.

"I'm going for my afternoon nap," he told her, as he moved off towards his bedroom.

"I shall wake you when your dinner is on the table," she called after him.

_I'm sure you will_, he thought bitterly to himself.

* * *

The Cyrodilic woman sat at the table, tapping her foot impatiently against the hard floor, while Malthar, a young Breton man returned with their drinks.

Cassiopia or Cassi to her friends, was already starting to feel boredom set in. They had only been here a few days, but the thought of having to stay here till whoever they were waiting for showed up, was mind-numbing.

What made it worse, was that Malthar either didn't know, or refused to tell her what they were called, or what they even looked like. They could walk in at any moment and she would be none the wiser.

Malthar set the drinks down onto the tabletop, before seating himself opposite her. Cassi reached for the tankard, picking it up. She took a long slow sip of the warm sweet mead.

Just a few short years ago, she would have struggled to pick anything up. Not because she had been weak, but due to losing sight in one of her eyes, which had made it difficult for her to judge the distance of nearby objects.

All those that had dared ask about her mutilation had been shocked by her story.

She had been in the legion during the war and had been captured when the Thalmor had taken the Imperial City.

They maimed her, cutting up the left side of her face, and blinding her in that eye. At first they had healed her, but the time came when her flesh stopped healing due to the amount of damage they were doing on a regular basis.

It had been a struggle, but she had learnt to deal with it. She did sometimes have problems when dealing with objects that were of an uncommon size, such as overly tall or short people. The most difficult thing to relearn had been fighting, as she no longer had any real sense of depth.

Cassi looked over at two women that sat at another table, who were staring at her. They quickly looked away, whispering something to each other, probably about her disfigurement. Or perhaps it was her inexpensive attire, they did appear to be snobs after-all, wearing expensive looking fine weaved clothing.

While Cassi preferred wearing her light mithril armour, right now she was in a scruffy brown linen blouse and dark thick pants. She was sure that if dressed in her armour, folks would probably find her scarred appearance less shocking and unexpected. As it was, she found the unwanted attention bothersome, and often insulting.

She turned her attention to Malthar, as he took a long sip of his own mead. "Why we here again?" she asked, hoping that he'd finally give her some semblance of an answer.

"We're waiting for some folks," he told her, repeating what he had been saying since they arrived in Jehanna.

"And Achilles knows 'em?" she asked.

"He knows _of _them," Malthar clarified.

"And whatta they look like again?" she asked, seeing the two women staring at them out of the corner of her eye.

"Well they're a large group of different races," Malthar told her.

"So we're looking for a large group of folk, who don't look like they aughtta be travellin' together?"

"Yeah."

"Do they know Achilles?"

"Maybe, I don't know."

"Do they even exist?"

Malthar shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know."

"Sometimes Mal, I wonder how ya put up with 'im. He's gone senile I'm sure of it." She took a large gulp of her ale, and let out a belch. The two women at the other table tutted aloud in disgust. "What!?" Cassi asked them with annoyance, knowing full-well her more common tongue and behaviour stood out amongst the higher class of folk that sat around them.

"I've known him my whole life Cassi," Malthar said, passing over her comment to those at the other table. "I feel I owe him a lot. He took care of me after my parents were, y'know."

Cassi looked away from him, feeling bad for what she'd said. "I guess it gets the two of us outta Daggerfall," she offered.

Malthar didn't respond. He just sat there sipping at his drink, not making eye-contact.

"Look, I'm sorry," she apologized. "I know he's like a father to ya, an' ya feel a sorta loyalty to him. But ya gotta admit that sendin' us all the way out here is a bit odd."

The Breton turned his gaze to her, placing his tankard slowly back onto the table top. "I know you're right," he accepted. "But I feel that we should at least give him the benefit of a doubt."

"How long did ya agree for us to wait for again?" Cassi asked him.

"Five months," Malthar reminded her.

"Five long months," Cassi added. "At least I getta spend them with you." She grinned as Malthar blushed and looked away.

"Erm," he stuttered, standing up, "do you want something to eat?"

"Nah, I'm good."

"Okay, then," Malthar said. "It's probably for the best. We should conserve what funds we have, just in case."

"Speaking of conservin' funds," Cassi began, unable to contain the smirk that crossed her face. "Why have we booked two rooms? Wouldn't we save coin if we only booked the one?"

Malthar didn't respond immediately, when he did, it was an excuse to get out of there as fast as possible. "I'm off to take a look around the city."

"Mind if I join ya?" she asked.

"You should probably stay here and look for those folks we're waiting for." Quickly, Malthar headed for the door.

It was odd that he resisted her so much, considering how much she knew he liked her. Cassi put it down to his shy, reserved nature. She just had to figure out how to break him out of that shell, and get him to open up to her. It was a good thing she had five months to do it.

Cassi noticed the two women staring at her again. "What!?" she demanded. "Have I got shit on my face or something?"

"You are a crude, foul woman!" one of them said, before they then both looked away in disgust.

"And yer two nosey hags!" she replied angrily.

* * *

The sun was on its slow descent down towards the horizon as Malthar stood outside the inn, silently cursing himself. Why had he run away? Why did he feel so scared to push their relationship beyond that of simple friendship. It was clear that she wanted it, and in truth _he_ wanted it too.

He wanted so much to be able to go right back in there and declare his love for her, to tell her how he felt. But he just couldn't. Something was stopping him, his own lack of courage was holding him back. Just the very thought of telling her made his heart race, and his skin sweat. It terrified him, but also filled him full of want.

Malthar began to walk forward, feeling the need to clear his head. He knew if he left it too long he'd lose his chance, and she'd move on. Cassi wasn't likely to wait for him to make his move forever.

Honestly, he didn't know what she saw in him. He wasn't a knight in shining armour or a fighter, he was far from it. If anything _she _was the knight. She had the armour, she owned her own horse, and she was a skilled fighter. She even had her own cape that fluttered in the breeze, making her seem all heroic. All he'd done with his life thus far was take care of an old man. Hardly something worthwhile in anyone else's eyes.

While he wasn't a weakling, he wasn't strong either. He was woefully average, nothing really to write home about. All he had going for him was his youth, and smooth complexion. Some had said, that his features were reminiscent of an Altmer's, just with white skin and brown eyes. Though, he didn't know whether that was meant to be a complement or not. Personally, he thought elves looked a little weird.

Malthar glanced back towards the inn, wondering if he should go back, or continue on with his walk. He decided to push on. He hadn't had the chance to take a good look around, and now was a good a time as any.

"Malthar!" He turned around once more to see Cassi running over to him.

_Oh Gods! _he though, feeling his heart begin to race once again in his chest. She was so beautiful to him, despite her disfigurement and her lack of etiquette.

"Listen," she said as she stopped beside him. "I thought I'd take a look 'round with ya."

He tried his best not to look put off by the idea. After-all, he had come out here to get away from her. "What about those folks we're waiting for?" he questioned hesitantly.

"I told the guy behind the bar to keep a lookout for 'em."

"Yeah, but-"

"Yeah, but nothing Mal," she interrupted. "I agreed to come here to be with you, not to be sat alone in some snobby inn waitin' for Achilles' fantasy to show up. And even if they _are_ real and do come, who's t'say they'll book rooms at the most expensive inn, in the city?"

Malthar looked away down the cobbled street, not saying anything. She had a point and it was a good one at that.

"Look, let's just take a look 'round the city an' enjoy ourselves," she suggested.

He stared at her. He wanted so much to be able to just grab her and kiss her. He knew she felt the same way about him, as he did her, so what was stopping him?

With great effort, he took her by the hand. "Come on then," he said, hearing his own voice crack.

She smiled. "Our first date?"

He cringed inwardly, but tried to keep his outward expression as stoic as possible. "Yeah," was all he managed to say.

"The first steps are always the hardest. Or at least that's how the sayin' goes."

Malthar didn't really feel like he'd taken any steps. In fact it felt like Cassi was the one who'd taken the step. Actually he wasn't even sure if they'd gotten any further with their relationship beyond what it had been, which was predominantly her flirting with him, and him feeling embarrassed and annoyed at his own inability to show her how much he loved her in return.

"Are we goin' somewhere, or we just gonna stand here?" Cassi asked.

Without uttering a word, her hand still in his. He led the way slowly down the main street, not really knowing where they were going.

Cassi moved her hand up his wrist until they were arm in arm. He felt a tingle go up his spine, and a wide uncontrollable smile spread across his face.

Perhaps coming to Jehanna wasn't such a waste of time after-all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

The soft breeze felt cool and rather invigorating on the two riders' skin. Meratur and the ex-leader of the Skyrim branch of the Imperial Legion Wren Maralda were on horseback, riding slowly along the stone paved road westward in the direction of the small village known as Dragon Bridge.

The village wasn't their destination however. After coming up to the only junction along the road between Solitude and the village, Wren led them northwards up an incline, which would take them further up into the snowy Haafingar mountains.

Meratur who was Altmer, cast his yellow eyes onto Wren, who as he understood it, was of mixed race. While he hadn't asked her personally, he had once been told that both her parents were of different heritage, some of them themselves being of mixed parents. Apparently she had some Altmer, Dunmer and even human blood in her; giving her a rather odd, yet strangely attractive appearance.

"So," Meratur began after what had been a mostly silent ride. "I've never asked you this, but how did you, an elf become a general? It's quite rare as I understand it."

Wren looked at him with a soft smile. "A lot of hard work and dedication," she said. "Besides, during the war things got pretty bad. We were losing entire units to the Dominion, legions were being smashed, lots of lives were being lost. They needed to get people into leadership roles quickly, so I was promoted and given charge of the lesser nineteenth and twentieth legions. Our role was to mainly watch the Argonian border, to make sure they didn't try to take advantage of us during the war. Though most of my men were transferred to join other legions in the retake of the Imperial City after it had been taken by the Dominion."

"So they promoted you to the rank of general just to watch over the lizards?"

"I commanded two legions. Even though they were smaller, only a general can command more than one."

"So you weren't involved in the war?" Meratur questioned.

"No, not directly," she told him. "Though we did catch the Aldmeri trying to sneak up the east side of the Niben."

"That was a lucky break," Meratur said. "A lot of wilderness out there. They could have easily slipped past unnoticed."

"They would have." She patted the side of her horse's head gently. "But we were tipped off."

"You were?" he asked, intrigued as to the who.

"Yes, by the Blades."

"The Blades were all the way down there?" he asked in surprise. While he knew of the Blades' existence, and that their main base of operations was somewhere in the Jerall mountains, he didn't really know much about them beyond simple idle chatter, rumours and speculation.

He guessed he just didn't think of them operating beyond the walls of the temple. He knew they did, it was that no one usually knew who they were when they did. They looked just like everyone else. Well, all except Tam, who he had met briefly some months ago.

The overly tall Altmer woman had been a Blade, and it had ended up costing her dearly. She had spent her life since the end of the war pretty much on the run from the Thalmor, who wanted her dead.

Just thinking about Tam reminded him of his lost daughter, Magoza. Her death was still a wound that wouldn't heal.

"All the way out there," Meratur repeated, forcing his mind off the unpleasant thoughts.

"Yes," she said, "they had an outpost out there. Didn't know where exactly though."

They both reached the top of the incline and began to follow the road westward, the stone paving covered in a thin layer of snow and frost.

"Wonder why the Dominion only sent a small army that way?" Meratur pondered. "Why not something more substantive?"

"Because we would have noticed anything larger," Wren pointed out. "I think their plan was to move troops unnoticed up along Blackwood. If they had been successful, then they might have been able to slowly form a larger army, given enough time. Then they would have been able to strike from an unanticipated position."

"But you stopped them?"

"More than once," she revealed.

"They could have sent a larger force, and wiped you out."

"Could have, but then they would have lost the crucial element of surprise. Our disappearance would have been noticed, and the chances of us getting out runners with word of what had happened to us, was far too high for them to risk."

Meratur shivered. Not due to what Wren had said, but because the air around them much cooler up here than it had been further down nearer Solitude. With a slight kick to the sides of the horse, he increased his pace, Wren doing the same to keep up.

The Altmer loved these rides they had gone on since she had decided to retire a few months ago. This was the first time however, that they had been able to go so far before the touch of cold had gotten to them, and they'd been forced to go back. Now with spring firmly gripping the land, it was far warmer than it had been.

"Quite peaceful," he observed.

"Yes," she agreed. "I like getting away from the city. Allows me to think."

Meratur was about to say something else, when fireballs began to hurtle from somewhere hidden within the tree-line. One struck Wren's horse, causing it to rear and bolt. He watched in horror as she slipped off it, her foot caught in the stirrup as the animal bolted, dragging her along behind it.

Meratur went to chase after her, but a bolt of energy struck him in the chest, flinging him clear off the horse. He hit the dirt at the side of the road hard, feeling his shoulder pop. He watched as his flaming horse, reared and screeched in agony.

He tried to climb to his feet, to see a group of what looked like mages emerge from the tree line. Then a rather aged looking Altmer shot a spell at him, and everything went dark.

* * *

The Argonian couldn't believe his luck. He had heard the commotion of a horse's hooves and a woman in distress, which had quickly garnered his utmost attention.

Ever since his bandit posse had been wiped out by two Orcs a few months back, he had been out here on his own with little of nothing.

He peered out from behind a tree, to see that someone was being violently dragged behind their horse, struggling to get their foot free. Suddenly she slid to a stop. Her horse continued on leaving her behind, fleeing as though its very life depended on it.

The injured woman crawled slowly towards the nearest pine-tree, clearly in agony. She leant on it, her head dropping against her chest.

As the Argonian moved in closer, he noticed a trail of blood leading from the road to where the elven woman was sat. _This will be easy_, he thought as he moved in towards his prey.

The elf looked up at him, her eyes a deep red, her face gaunt and full of pain. She frowned with confusion. "Who are you?" she asked her voice strained, weak.

He clumsily unsheathed his iron sword. "Don't worry," the Argonian said to her, his voice deep and gravelly. "I will end it for you," he said, before adding under his breath, "and free you from your worldly possessions while I'm at it." The woman raised her left hand and opened it in a gesture that said 'stop'. He ignored it as he crept closer.

Suddenly a wave of nausea struck him, his vision turning a crimson red. He began to stagger, tried to break free of whatever magic had gripped him. The elven woman then held up her other hand, and opened it the same as the first, his feeling of nausea increased as he staggered to the ground, vomit spewing from his large toothy maw.

"Sorry," she said to him, as she climbed to her feet, her palms remaining open. "But you shouldn't have done that."

He tried to crawl away, tried to break free from whatever spell the elf had ensnared him with. Finally, his strength dwindled and he could move no more. A moment later he was dead.

* * *

Solitude loomed high at the end of the long road, with a sound of music emanating over the walls, soft and distant on the wind. Valerie, Rontag and their new friend Jo'Agro had been travelling over the last few weeks with a group of Nord merchants, as they went around with their wagon of goods.

Their original plan had been to catch an ore ship to Solitude at Dawnstar. Unfortunately, they had found that the Jarl had ceased allowing it. The reason was because the empire had folded in the war with the Dominion, and he felt betrayed by it.

So instead they had waited till merchants had arrived in the city, and simply travelled with them. It had given Rontag more time to recover from the after-effects of the poison that had almost killed him back in the cave near Winterhold.

Valerie, the thirty-eight year old Nord with Blonde hair, light blue eyes and pale skin, looked on at the city ahead. She had worried about the fact she was wearing light studded Imperial armour, but her story was to simply tell the truth regarding the war. Looking down, she could even see the damage, where a conjured aldmeri sword had pierced it, and her gut back then.

She looked over at her husband Rontag. His shoulder length medium brown hair and large beard blew slightly in the wind. His armour which was heavy steel, had a dull shine to it, its original shininess lost in the years he had spent in Hammerfell, which had also tanned his skin. He looked back at her with a smile, his ice-blue eyes a thing of beauty to her.

Her gaze turned downward to the steel sword that lay in a sheath around his waist. He used to have a steel battle-axe, but the handle had been smashed and they'd decided to leave it behind in Winterhold. He had bought the sword in Dawnstar as it was cheaper than a battle-axe. Though she wondered if he remembered how to wield one.

Valerie turned her gaze over toward Jo'Agro, the Khajiit that Rontag owed his life to. At least to some extent. He was covered in an almost blonde fur with a blonde moustache, and mutton chops. His hair was slicked back, between his cat-like ears, and his face had a white tint around his eyes and mouth, with black lines looking almost like vertical brows.

Upon reaching the gates, they bid farewell to the merchants they had travelled with, and made their way inside. Looking instantly to their rights, they saw the familiar dark Redguard faces of Kalon and Jalia up on a raised platform, performing for a small crowd.

Kalon, who was a rather handsome man, with short thick black hair was on the lute; while Jalia, a beautiful long black-haired, smooth skinned woman played the drum. They both appeared to be enjoying themselves, and so did the small audience.

Jalia locked her brown eyes with Rontag, and as their song came to an end she whispered something to Kalon. He promptly dedicated their next song to Rontag and the late Redguard Doran, for making their journey to Solitude possible.

After they finished their next song, where Kalon actually did some singing about brave warriors, they both called an end to the performance and the gathered folks began to disperse.

The three new arrivals to the city walked up to the raised area, as the two made their way down a short set of stairs, meeting up with them.

"Good to see you again," Kalon said with a broad smile.

"I hope you enjoyed the performance?" Jalia added. "We do one near everyday now. It's really good practice."

Valerie smiled. "We did very much," she told them. "Thank you."

"Didn't know you were a bard too," Rontag said to Jalia.

"I wasn't going to be," she confirmed, brushing her long black fringe from her eyes. "But Kalon couldn't afford lodging and I wasn't allowed to stay at the Bards College unless I was a student. So I became one."

"Well you're good with the drum," Valerie said complementing her.

"Thank you," Jalia said with gratitude, "I've had a lot of practice hitting things."

"You have?" Rontag asked.

"Thwacking Kalon 'round the back of the head," she clarified with a cheeky smile. She looked passed them at Jo'Agro. "So, who's this?"

Rontag looked over at the Khajiit. "That's Jo'Agro. He's kind of, well, he's someone we kinda know."

Valerie added. "By that he means he helped save Rontag's life, and now follows us for some reason."

"This one found it too cold at the College, and sought adventure," Jo'Agro told them.

"So where's the elf?" Kalon asked.

Jalia slapped him hard around the back of the head. "The 'elf' had a name," she said to him with annoyance.

Kalon tried again. "So where's erm, what's her name?"

Valerie cleared her throat. "Tam's gone her own way."

"Truly?"

"Yeah, decided that there was too much risk staying with us."

"Well regardless, I'm sure Meratur will be pleased to see you," Kalon said. A smile formed on his mouth. "And guess what. Turns out he's a bit of a ladies man."

Valerie frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"He's living with two ladies. One's an ex-general elf, who's a bit of a looker," he glanced at Jalia, "Not as good-looking as this beauty beside me," he added, lest he get another slap. "Besides, she has these creepy eyes, which is a put-off. The other's an Orc, who's just plain scary. Well at least in my opinion."

Rontag smiled. "Didn't he have a thing for Orcs?" he asked his wife.

Valerie looked at him, shaking her head. "Anyway," she said changing the subject, "could you direct us to where they're living?"

Kalon pointed forward, raising his head. "Follow me!" He led the way onward with a purposeful stride, followed closely by the others.

They all made their way down the stone tiled pavement, passing the rather impressive Castle Dour on their left, which was adorned with the flag of Solitude, which was a black wolf's head on a red and white background. The group continued on past the market on their right, before heading down a narrower street, stepping up to a cluster of houses.

"That's the place," Kalon said pointing to an arched doorway.

"Thanks," Rontag said. The three then made their way over to it, as Kalon and Jalia moved off, back down the street.

Valerie knocked hard on the house door and waited for a response. It was several moments before the door opened.

Stood on the other side glaring at them, was a green-skinned Orc with deep red eyes. Her black hair was tied into a bun, and her lower canine teeth protruded upwards as did with all Orcs. She was wearing a brown linen shirt, and dark pants, with black buckled boots. On top of all that, she was wearing a look of annoyance and distrust.

"What!?" the Orc demanded rather aggressively.

Valerie awkwardly glanced at Rontag before speaking. "We're friends of Meratur," she told her.

The Orc eyed them suspiciously. "What're you called?"

"I'm Valerie," she said.

"And I'm Rontag," her husband added.

"Who's that?" the Orc growled, gesturing toward the Khajiit.

"That's Jo'Agro," Rontag informed her. "A tag-along."

"Jo'Agro does not appreciate being called a 'tag-along'," he responded gruffly with a heavy frown.

The Orc folded her arms. "I s'pose you can all come in," she said, stepping to one side. "He's not here," she informed them as they promptly stepped inside.

Rontag looked at the Orc as he moved past her. "Where's he gone?"

"On a horse ride with that _woman_." She closed the door with a thud, after checking that there was no one else.

Valerie briefly looked around the rather posh main room. "Yeah, Kalon mentioned a general."

"Wren," the Orc said distastefully. "He spends a lot of time with her." The Orc pointed at a high-backed bench. "Sit if you want."

They did so. Valerie looked back at her. "Nice place."

"Yes, it belongs to Wren." The Orc Paused. "If I haven't already said, my name is Durza."

"We've heard of you," Rontag told her. "I think Meratur mentioned you in a letter to us, when we were back in Winterhold."

"Yes, he does seem to like writing. A waste of time."

"I agree," Rontag concurred.

"None of that matters," Durza said. "Do any of you want anything to eat or drink?" she asked.

"Jo'Agro would love to drink a hot beverage of some-kind."

Durza glared at him. "Everything's in those over there," she told them pointing to a row of cupboards over by the far wall. "There's even a box of leaves to make that foul tea the elf woman likes. The kettle is on the side, near the thick cloth. It does have some water still in it, but if you use it you fill it back up!"

Valerie stood up, and made her way over to the cupboards, which had a few small wooden containers on top. She lifted the lid off of them, until she found the breadbox. She looked to Rontag and Jo'Agro. "Either of you want any bread?" she asked them.

"Sure," Rontag said.

"Jo'Agro would like that very much."

Durza glared at them. "Don't eat all of it, or else Wren will whine like a child when they get back."

Valerie retrieved a loaf of bread, grabbing a bread knife and cutting it into three pieces. She went over to her husband and the Khajiit, passing them two pieces of the bread, keeping the third for herself.

"Nice," Rontag said after taking a bite. "The upper crust too."

"Yes, she has a good retirement fund," Durza said resentfully.

"I get the sense you don't like her much," Valerie observed.

"Sense?" the Orc asked incredulously. "I believe I was being quite clear on my dislike of her."

Rontag frowned. "Then why stay?" he questioned.

"Because Meratur's here, and I both like _and_ trust him."

"What about your brother?" Valerie asked. "If I remember what Meratur told us, he came to Skyrim with you when you sought Burag?"

"He doesn't like me, and I dislike him. He left, I do not know where."

"So you stay because of Meratur?" Valerie said.

"Yes," Durza repeated. "I find him." She paused. "Pleasant," she said finally.

"How so?" Rontag asked, pulling a face.

"He's kinda attractive. For a non-Orc that is," Durza said.

"That's disgusting!"

"How so!?" Durza said, looking rather displeased by his comment.

"Well weren't Meratur and your mother, y'know?" Rontag asked.

"No," the Orc said bluntly. "Bagol was Magoza's mother, not mine."

"Oh," Rontag said, before taking another bite from his bread.

The Orc continued. "There is no blood relation between me and Magoza. Her mother was Bagol, and her father was Meratur. My mother was Glith, and my father was Burag."

"Still seems-" Rontag stopped as Durza glared at him once more.

"Please continue," Jo'Agro interjected. "This one was enjoying observing the conversation. It was quite interesting."

Durza turned to the Khajiit. "It is best we do not," she warned.

"Jo'Agro understands," he said with clear disappointment.

"Good!" the Orc said. "I do not want to hear it spoken of again."

Rontag and Valerie quickly ate their bread. There was a rather uncomfortable feeling in the room, and neither of them really wanted to be there any longer.

"So, erm," Valerie began, "when is Meratur and his friend expected back?"

"Around mid to late afternoon."

"Mind if we wait?" Valerie asked, hoping that it would be sooner. She didn't really find the Orc's hospitality all that hospitable.

"I thought that's what you were doing?" Durza questioned. "Unless your goal was to annoy me instead?"

"Oh, no," Valerie reassured her. "We're waiting for him. We have some good news, or at least it is if it's true."

"What news is that?" Durza asked.

Valerie looked at Rontag, then back to the Orc, taking in a deep breath. "I guess you should know."

"You have my attention."

She cleared her throat before speaking, keeping her words even. "We think Magoza might be alive."

For a moment, Valerie thought she saw a small smile on Durza's face. Then it was gone, replaced by her usual look of slight disgust. "How do you know this?" she questioned, folding her rather large, threatening arms over her chest.

Valerie looked back at her husband. "Well, Rontag had a vision of some kind."

"A vision?" the Orc questioned. "Or a hallucination while in a drunken stupor?"

"I was poisoned," Rontag told her. "I had a vision of an old man. He told me that we had to go to Jehanna, and that Magoza was alive."

"You believe what you saw in a poison addled dream?" Durza asked him, contempt evident in her voice.

"Some of what was in it has already come true," Rontag revealed. "Such as the old man in the vision said an assassin sent by the Thalmor was coming for Tam, and that the assassin had misgivings about the contract."

"And it was proven true?" The Orc couldn't believe what she was being told.

"Yes," Rontag said.

"And how am I supposed to believe this?"

"Not easily, I admit," Rontag accepted.

"I believe it," Valerie added.

"I do not," Durza told them bluntly. "You're all strangers to me, and for you to think I would accept this is foolish."

"We understand," Valerie said. "When Meratur returns we'll tell him. He'll decide if he believes us or not."

"Meratur is no fool," Durza said. "He will need more, _I _need more."

Valerie looked down at the floor. "All we ask is that you and Meratur come to Jehanna with us."

"When he returns, we will see."

She knew the Orc was right to not believe what they had told her. She wouldn't have either. All Valerie could hope for, was that Meratur trusted them enough to at least come with them to discover the truth for himself.

* * *

The pain was still there, but she had become somewhat numb to the persistent pain. Wren Maralda's back felt as though someone had struck it with a hammer several times. Being dragged who knows how far on her back by the horse had done her no good, and it would give her grief for some time to come.

Her favourite fur coat had been absolutely ruined, and she had been forced to discard it. Now the only thing on her torso, blocking out the harsh weather was her blouse, which was also badly torn at the back.

Luckily for her, an Argonian had come along. He had made the mistake of trying to kill her, but she had managed to take his life-energy in order to heal herself. Once she had recovered somewhat, she had then begun to use her own self-healing spell until she was able to move without being in crippling agony.

Unfortunately for the Argonian, he had died. Fortunately for her, he had a sword she could use.

Right now, Wren was coming up on the place she and Meratur had been ambushed by the unknown attackers.

Her pace quickened when she saw Meratur's horse laying dead by the side of the road. She looked around, seeing multiple sets of footprints heading north in the untouched snow.

Without another second to lose, she headed in that direction, hoping that Meratur was still alive. If he wasn't, then those that were responsible for his death would face her wrath, and she would make sure that it was dealt out slowly and painfully.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

The four of them; Magoza, Hides, Llandri and Brendarr, had been in the wilds away from civilisation for around a month now. They had been rather slowly making their way northwards towards Blacklight, a large Dunmer port city that lay on the coast. What had made their slow trip even slower, was that they had found a small abandoned hut. Llandri had not wanted to leave it for quite some time, just over two-weeks in fact, which had put their journey on an unwelcome hold.

Now they were much farther north, moving up along the west side of Morrowind, near the tall mountainous Skyrim border, the snowy peaks rising like white jagged teeth.

While the smoke plume from Red Mountain that lay in the centre of the isle of Vvardenfell had been partially visible from the Karo farm down south near Almalexia on a clear day, now they couldn't not see it, a column of smoke that billowed out slowly into the sky to the east.

Magoza was struggling. Her hide armour was becoming increasingly tight, and her back kept giving her grief. Her growth spurt that had begun a few months back had failed to stop, and now she was really starting to suffer because of it. Not only was it difficult to move in her attire, but she was starting to find it hard to breathe.

The Orsimer looked across at Llandri as she stopped, swiping a lock of her long scarlet hair from out of her bright red eyes. The others halted also, turning to face her to see what was wrong.

"What is it mother?" Brendarr asked in his common Dunmer accent, his shoulder-length auburn hair a mixture of his mother's red and his recently deceased father's black.

The Dunmer woman shook her head again. "I need a rest," she told them, her accent the same as her son's. "I just can't go on no more."

Llandri, who had once been so full of energy, was now just a shell of the woman she once was. Not only had she been forced to flee her home, but she had lost her husband at the hands of those that would enslave them out of a sense of retribution over what her race had once done to theirs.

Brendarr looked to Magoza, before sneering at the Argonian, known as Hides. He then returned his gaze back to his mother. "I agree. We should set up camp, and rest till morning."

"It is only afternoon," Hides pointed out.

"Shut up swamp-dweller!" Brendarr snapped at him. "Keep going if ya want, but me mother wants a rest!"

Magoza agreed. "She's been through a lot," the young Orsimer said in her deep yet soft voice. "Maybe we should take some time to regather our strength."

Brendarr looked at Magoza and nodded. She looked back at him, his red eyes both full of sadness. What they had gone through was something no one should have to suffer.

Llandri sat in the dirt, with her son Brendarr by her side. Hides gathered sticks and small branches, while Magoza gathered some small rocks, placing them in a circle, with the large sticks placed in the middle. With a single blast, Magoza ignited the wood with a flame spell. They then all sat down, basking in the warmth it radiated.

Magoza stared at it, before glancing around at the others as her stomach rumbled. "Me and Hides will gather some food in a bit," she told them.

"That's nice of ya," Llandri said, dully.

"It's nothing," Magoza said. "You two should rest, you've been through a lot."

Brendarr smiled at her wistfully. "Yer so kind," he said softly. "So concerned about our well-being."

"It's probably a weakness of mine," Magoza observed.

Llandri shook her head in disagreement. "No, it's a strength, and don't let anyone ever tell ya otherwise."

"Thank you," the young Orc said with gratitude. "Though maybe me and Hides should go find some food now." She stood up, followed shortly by Hides. "We'll stay in earshot," she told them.

They both moved off, Magoza with her hands ready, and Hides with his bow in hand. "The Inner Sea is nearby," Hides said, looking towards the island of Vvardenfell. "It is not visible from where we're stood, but it might be easier to get some fish and not one of the native land animals."

"Yes," Magoza agreed. From their time out in the wilds, eating the local wildlife had been difficult. It wasn't the capturing, but was trying to remove the thick scales and skin so they could get to the flesh beneath. Then it tended to be difficult to chew it, the meat being tough, chewy or stringy.

"Follow me," the Argonian said, as he set off eastward.

It only took a few minutes for the Inner Sea to become visible. They both stopped when they reached the embankment, looking out over the large channel before them.

"So," Magoza began, "How do we capture the fish?"

"I swim out and get it," Hides replied as he began to remove his light leather armour.

"What're you doing?" the Orc questioned, looking away.

"I am only removing my cuirass so that I do not get dragged down beneath the water," he said, "do not worry, I am still clothed beneath."

"You're capturing the fish by hand?" she asked, keeping her gaze facing inland away from him.

"Arrows are not very good with water, and neither is magic I believe."

"No, it's not," Magoza confirmed. "Magic usually hits water as if it's solid."

A moment later, she turned as she heard him enter the water. He waded down till it was above his waste, before he dove under. The Orc stood there by the shoreline, waiting for him to return.

Several minutes later, after he failed to resurface, she started to become worried. There was only so long someone could hold their breath for and he had passed that, or was at least very close.

Slowly, Magoza began to pace back and forth. He hadn't surfaced, and there was no sign he was going to. There also wasn't any sign that he was in trouble either, but something must have happened. If she knew how to swim, then she would have considered jumping in after him, but she couldn't. Living up in the mountains meant that she had never been in a situation where it was required. Until now.

"Hides!?" she called out, to no response. "Are you still out there!?" Now she was really starting to worry. There was no way he could possibly hold his breath this long.

Slowly, she began to make her way towards the water, dipping one foot beneath the surface. She then moved away. If Hides was in trouble down there, then what chance did she have?

Suddenly, Hides burst from the water around fifty feet away, causing Magoza to jump with fright. He had perhaps four fish in his mouth, which he had caught. He made his way back to the bank, before removing his catch from his jaws.

"I thought you were in trouble!?" she said heatedly.

"You did?" he questioned with confusion.

"When you didn't surface," she continued. "I thought you'd drown or something!?"

"Drown?" he asked confused.

"Yes, Drown!" she shouted.

"I can breath underwater," Hides explained, as if it was common knowledge.

"You can breath underwater!?" she repeated furiously. "Why didn't you tell me!?"

They both looked around as they heard movement. Standing there was Brendarr, looking angrily at Hides. "Watsit up to!?" he questioned. "Has it harmed ya?"

Magoza held up her hands. "Oh no, nothing like that," she said quickly. "He just spent a long time under the water and I became concerned."

"That right?" Brendar asked suspiciously. "I don't trust it."

Hides glared at him. "You want this fish I caught, or does your distrust extend to them as well?"

"Don't," Magoza pleaded. "He has a reason to distrust you. Perhaps not a good one in your eyes, but a reason nonetheless."

Brendarr and his mother, Llandri had watched Argonians kill Darovin, then later viciously attack a friend's small settlement, which had resulted in deaths, and their alienation.

Magoza glanced out to the water where she had thought Hides had drown in only moments ago. "You're just going to have to earn his trust," she said looking back at the Argonian.

"Good luck with that," Brendarr sneered.

"Let us just get back to camp," Hides told them, not wanting to continue with the hostile conversation.

* * *

With the final ring of the bell, it was home-time. In Tam's case, it was time to get back to the inn where she was currently staying.

Over the last few weeks she had been working at the Blacklight docks. It wasn't the greatest job in the world, but it paid the cost of renting rooms.

Tam, the long blonde haired, near eight foot tall giant Altmer, hurried out of the warehouse and up the wooden steps along the road, not stopping to make idle conversation as her fellow workers liked to do at this time of day.

It wasn't long till she was back at the Ghostview Inn. Stepping inside she noticed Faldan, a Bosmer man with smooth light-brown skin, violet eyes and long brown tied-back hair. He was sat at a table with Rasha an Ohmes-Raht-Khajiit, who had bright yellow cat-like eyes, light-brown fur and shoulder length hair and a missing right hand. The Altmer promptly made her way over to them, pulling out a chair and sitting in it.

"Hey, Tam. How was your day?" Rasha asked her in greeting

"Move this, move that. Those coming off the ships, thinking that because I'm female that I'll struggle, then injuring themselves trying to lift something I can with ease."

"The usual then," Rasha added.

Faldan tapped the table with the ends of his fingers. He was still uncomfortable around the Altmer, and she couldn't blame him. He had once sold her out to the Thalmor, and it had cost an entire village their lives. He had then found himself on the run from him of course, because they saw him as a liability that had to be removed.

He had come back into her life, when Rasha, a bounty hunter had come to Winterhold in Skyrim, where she had been living at the time.

Rasha was there due to a bounty she had collected from the Thalmor, but with more information, it had become apparent to the Khajiit that her Bounty was suspicious, and unjust.

She hadn't forgiven Faldan for what he'd done, she never would. But she could put it behind her. As for the Khajiit, she wasn't sure she entirely trusted her, though she had lost her hand fighting Albus, an ex-blade who had been manipulated by the Thalmor. That had to count for something, as the distraction she had unintentionally caused Albus had probably saved lives.

"How's your job searches been going?" Tam asked them.

Rasha glanced at Faldan. "Well he tried getting one at the spell shop, but they wanted someone who knew more than a handful of spells."

"And you?"

"Nothing yet, though being a Khajiit may be hurting my chances."

"That is a possibility," Tam agreed. "I could have a talk with the folks down at the docks. I think they're starting to warm up to me."

"If you would, that'd be much appreciated," Rasha replied with gratitude. "I just get the feeling that the only way they'd hire me, is if it was on a plantation for free."

Tam folded her arms with a frown. "That's not really that funny."

"I wasn't really trying to be," Rasha said. "Just an observation."

"An observation that if overheard could get us thrown out."

"Okay, no need to be like that," the Ohmes-Raht-Khajiit said back.

Tam unfolded her arms. "Listen, I'm not trying to be mean, just telling you that saying things like that may get us thrown out."

"Say no-more," Rasha said. "I understand, my maw is sealed."

"I'm not telling you to shut up. I'm just telling you to not talk about what once happened to your race."

"If it was a few hundred years ago, then why shouldn't I talk about it?" Rasha asked the Altmer. "All in the past, right?"

Tam scowled. "You're a difficult one, aren't you," she observed.

"Yes I am," Rasha agreed. "You can also probably tell I don't mingle well."

"That much is certain." Tam slowly rose up from her seat. "Anyway, want something to drink?" she asked them. "I'll buy."

Rasha grinned. "Considering you're the only one with an income," she pointed out.

"Is that a yes?" Tam asked.

"Yeah," Rasha replied before turning to Faldan. "How 'bout you?" He simply nodded. The Khajiit looked back at Tam. "Yes, he does."

The Altmer walked off to the bar, soon returning with some Greef, a rather cheap brandy made of comberries, which were known for their bitterness. She set the three tankards down, before seating herself.

"Thanks," Rasha said.

"Erm, yeah, thank you," Faldan added nervously.

It was odd. Tam didn't know what had made him all quiet around her. They had been doing so well before they arrived here. The two had in a way started to actually get along to some degree. Now he'd gone shy, and she didn't know the reason why.

The Altmer took a sip of the brandy, its slight bitter taste pleasant on her palette.

She had never drunk any Dunmer drinks before coming here. At least she didn't think she had. There was a chance she may have drunk some when she lived in Cheydinal, as there was a strong Dunmer presence there. Though everything she had drunk sounded quite Cyrodilic in its title. Then again Greef didn't sound particularly Dunmeri, so it was likely that she had. Though she was certain she'd never consumed this particular drink before.

For a moment, Tam wondered why they decided to name it Greef. Then realised that she didn't really care. It was cheap and didn't really taste nasty, at least to her. That was a plus.

Tam looked at the other two. "Like it?" she asked, regarding the drink.

"Bit bitter for my tastes," Rasha said. "But it certainly tastes better than some of the more expensive stuff I've tried over the years."

"And you?" Tam asked Faldan

The Bosmer shrugged, looking down at the barely touched liquid. "It's okay I guess."

"Is something wrong?" Tam questioned. "You seem glum as of late."

"It's nothing," Faldan told her.

"Sure?" Tam asked.

"Sure," he said.

Rasha looked over at him with concern. "I've noticed your lack of motivation too. If there's anything you need to talk about, just let me know."

"Erm, thanks," Faldan said in almost a mumble.

Tam was about to question him further on what it was that was bothering him, but decided to leave it be. At least for the time being.

"Well it's been a long day," Tam said, standing up from her chair. "I'm off to get an early night."

"See you tomorrow," Rasha said to her.

"Erm, yeah, see you," Faldan added.

The Altmer made her way upstairs to her room. After closing the door, she sat on the side of the bed, kicking her boots off, before laying down on it.

Her thoughts turned to Valerie and Rontag. She wondered if they'd managed to convince Meratur to go to High Rock with them, and whether they had even arrived there in Jehanna or not.

Then there was the matter regarding Magoza, and whether she was alive or not. Tam was highly sceptical. There was little chance that the young Orc was alive, no matter how much she wanted it to be true. Wanting something didn't make it so. She of all people knew that.

For years she had wanted the Thalmor to stop chasing her, to just give up. But they were relentless. She wondered how long it would take for them to find her here?

Sometimes she wished that she could gather a crew, buy a ship and just sail into the horizon, never to return. It was a nice fantasy, but that was all it was. She didn't have the charisma nor the funds to fulfil such foolish dreams.

The Altmer closed her eyes, allowing sleep to slowly claim her.

* * *

Meratur's eyes slowly fluttered open to dry eyes and a pounding headache and a sore shoulder. Glancing around, He found he was laying on the floor of a small square and quite sparse cell, his hands tied behind his back.

The Altmer pushed himself to his knees before he looked around a little more, trying to remember what had happened and how he had ended up in such a situation. The last thing he could remember was riding along the road, heading eastwards along the northern road with Wren.

For a moment, he pondered about whether he should call out and see if those who had taken him prisoner would come. Either to question him or shut him up. Meratur decided to hold off his shouting, at least for a little while longer.

It was quite sometime before he heard footsteps outside his cell. A male and a female Nord halted outside, glaring in at him through the iron bars. Both were wearing mage's robes and unmistakable amulets of Stendarr.

The male Nord glanced at the female before looking back down at Meratur. "Thought you'd be awake," he said.

"Who're you?" Meratur asked him.

The man ignored his question. Instead, asked one of his own. "Where is she?"

"Who?" Meratur responded.

"The vampire!" the woman said, in a raised voice.

Meratur found himself confused and quite bewildered. He was unaware of any vampires. "What vampire?" the Altmer questioned.

"You were travelling with her."

Now he was really confused. "The only person I was travelling with was Wren."

The male Nord folded his arms. "The general. Where is she?"

"Wren?" he asked, not understanding what they were trying to tell him. "She's no longer a general, she retired a few weeks ago."

"I don't care if she's retired," the Nord shouted angrily, "I want to know where she is!?"

"How should I know? We were out on one of our rides together, then I find myself here, tied up and in a cell. I know nothing of any vampire."

The man didn't look impressed with the answer. He glared down at the Altmer fiercely before he looked over at the woman.

She shrugged. "I dunno if he's telling the truth or not."

The man looked back down at him, his eyes glaring. "We've tried to show your friend for what she is for some time. She fooled you. She fooled all of you."

Meratur looked down at the floor, trying to understand not only what had happened, but what these people wanted from him and Wren. She was probably heading back to Solitude right now to report what had happened, and perhaps rescue him with Durza. If she even knew where he was of course.

"You think Wren's a vampire?" the Altmer asked looking back up at them. "Have any evidence of this?"

"Cut her with a silver blade, cast a sunlight spell at her, and she will be under more pain than any mortal would be."

"I don't believe you," Meratur said shaking his head. "She retired over two weeks ago, after another was placed in charge of the Skyrim legion. Since then I have often been in her presence. She has shown no signs of hunger for blood, nor has she disappeared unexpectedly. She even goes out in the sun, and last I checked, she didn't burst into flames or anything."

"Vampires don't burst into flames in sunlight. While all vampires suffer some sort of ailment in the daylight, some greater than others, it doesn't necessarily kill them. It depends on various factors such as the type of vampirism. There are more than one you know."

"I didn't know."

"That much is clear," the Nord man said. "So, I ask again. Where is the vampire?"

"Wren has probably returned to Solitude."

"No, she hasn't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because we had people waiting for her, and as of the last report a half hour ago, she hadn't shown up. I will admit that the report in itself was a good few hours old when we received it, but there is no doubt in my mind that she won't return there. She knows that we can get her, that we can prove what she it."

"She will return to Solitude and when she does, then she'll come after me with Durza, and perhaps even a group of legionaries. She may be retired, but she still holds some sway."

"Perhaps. Though I doubt she'd even know where to look, and if she does go back to the city, then we will reveal to all what she really is."

The man unlocked the cell and swung the door open, stepping inside. He then pulled out a rag from his pocket, turning to his friend. The woman passed him a bottle and he poured some kind of fluid onto it, before pressing it firmly against Meratur's face. Everything began to spin, as a sickly taste filled his mouth and throat. Moments later he was unconscious.

* * *

Wren Maralda crouched in the snowy dirt, around two-hundred paces from Northwatch Keep, in a raised position on the shallow side of the mountain. It was an old fort that lay at the base of high cliffs on the north shore which looked out over the Sea of Ghosts.

She had heard back when she was general, and commanded the Skyrim branch of the Imperial Legion, that bandits had moved in. But it now appeared a different kind of scum had decided to call the place home.

The Vigils of Stendarr were a special kind of degenerate. They attacked what they didn't understand, and had been known to attack innocent people simply because they had thought they were Daedra worshippers. It was clear to her that there were too many, even for her to take on without risking her friend's life.

For now, she'd keep scouting the area, and keep an eye on the numbers she saw moving around the old fort's courtyard. With luck she might be able sneak in and rescue Meratur, who she knew was being held inside.

It all depended on how many there were inside of course. If there were in fact too many, then she would be forced to risk returning with support.

Her eyes burned as she looked up at the bright sky. The sun was still quite high, and it would be a good few hours till nightfall came. That didn't matter though, as she would wait the day out, and use the time to observe the guard patterns of the two or three Vigil's she currently saw outside.

The plan was to wait until it was dark, sneak in, find Meratur using a detect-life spell and escape with him. The detect-life spell would also come in handy for getting a better idea as to the actual numbers in the old fort, as the spell worked through most walls. All depending on the thickness of course.

If she managed to get her friend out without any casualties, then she would have succeeded. If however there were fatalities, then while it wouldn't be a failure, it wouldn't truly be a success either. It all depended on how well they'd treated him though, because if they had treated him badly, then she would make them hurt.

"Damned Vigils!" she whispered angrily under her breath. Her retirement had been rather fun up until now. She'd bought a lovely house, and invited Meratur and his Orsimer friend Durza to stay with her as long as they wished. So far it had been just less than a month, and life had become far more relaxed and pleasant than it had been in quite a long time. Well apart from Durza's dislike of her of course.

Wren clenched her fists. If the vigils had done anything to him, then there would be big trouble. First though, she had to concentrate on getting him out of there.

With another glance at the sky, she couldn't help but feel the day had slowed to a crawl since Meratur had been captured. It was almost intolerable to think that she'd have to sit here waiting for hours before she could properly act. Unfortunately it was simply too light, and there was not enough cover between here and the fort for her not to be seen.

She would just have to wait and see. Though the chances were she would be forced to return to the city and fetch Durza as she would probably need the help.

Just the very thought of what the Orsimer would say gave her pause. Durza fancied Meratur quite a bit, and there was no doubt in her mind that she would blame her for him being captured. In a way she was right. It was her fault.

Wren glanced back at the sky, trying to will the sun to move faster in its descent. It disobeyed her wishes, just as she expected it to. The wait would feel like a long one. It was something she'd simply have to endure.

* * *

As the sun vanished beneath the horizon, Magoza felt a chill begin to move in.

The four of them sat around the campfire after having consumed the fish that Hides had caught a good few hours earlier. Llandri sat beside her son, her legs tucked up, her arms wrapped around them. Brendarr sat beside her, with Magoza sat between him and Hides.

Apparently they weren't far from Blacklight now. Or at least that's what Llandri had told them. Anything she said right now had to be taken with a grain of salt because her mind was still quite addled from the death of her husband.

Even if it was not far from here, it could still take them a few days, as Llandri couldn't walk for more than a few miles before she needed to rest. While it didn't bother Magoza that much, she knew it irritated Hides. He didn't like the slow meandering pace, and preferred to get on with things. Before Darovin had been murdered, Llandri would have thought the same thing, but his death had made her lethargic, unmotivated.

Brendarr on the other hand was far nicer to her than he was before, and she felt that he even respected her now. He was quite sombre though,and often took his frustrations out on Hides.

The Argonian didn't deserve it, but he didn't help himself when he showed annoyance at Llandri's lack of motivation to keep moving onward.

No amount of moaning would change the Dunmer widow's pace, and Magoza didn't want to push her harder than need be. Doing so wouldn't do her any good, it probably wouldn't do any of them any good.

They would reach Blacklight eventually, and taking it slow was probably good for the Karo's. They needed time to heal, and with luck they were getting it.

* * *

As the day had gone by, and night-time fell, Durza had become increasingly irate. It was clear that Meratur and Wren were late.

Valerie was also concerned. Her mind immediately went to the Thalmor. Did they know he knew Tam? Had they captured him to interrogate him as to her whereabouts?

It was more likely than she cared to think. But Wren had been a general, meaning that they'd either have to truly believe he knew where they was to risk such an incident, or it was someone else? If it was someone else, then who?

Durza had stated that if they were not back by morning, then she would search for them. Valerie, Rontag and Jo'Agro had agreed to go with her. She just hoped they'd return before then, because there was a lot of wilderness out there to disappear in, and it would be nigh on impossible to find them out there without knowing where to look.

With nothing more that they could do, Durza told the two Nords that they could sleep in her bed tonight, and that she would stay downstairs and wait for them. As for Jo'Agro, Durza offered him Wren's bed, probably out of spite, hoping the Khajiit would fill it full of fur.

Whatever the reason it wasn't either Valerie's or Rontag's concern. They just wanted a good nights sleep, because if Meratur and Wren didn't return, then tomorrow would be a very long day.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV**

The axe came down with a hefty force, splitting the small wooden log clean in two.

It was mid morning and Achilles was stood on the porch, watching the large Orc Burag chop some wood for the fire. Yesterday he had done rather well at fixing the roof, stopping the leak that was threatening to get worse. Now he was going through the pile of logs at an alarming rate.

"I don't like the way he holds that axe!" Arlianna screeched right in his ear-hole.

Achilles turned to his Breton caretaker with a scowl. "Do you have to scream that right in my lug?" he asked in annoyance.

"I wasn't screaming," she told him, folding her arms. "I'm just trying to warn you, but you're too pig-headed to listen."

"Okay then, how exactly should he hold it?" the old man questioned, angered by her incessant accusations regarding Burag's motivations.

Arlianna glared at him. "Not like he's about to cleave someone with it," she told him.

"For goodness sake woman, he's only chopping wood!"

"Now he his. Just you wait, he'll be using it to cleave skulls before too long. Nothing but a barbarian that one."

Achilles decided to ignore her prattling. All she had done since he had first met her was moan and complain about everything. It was becoming tedious to say the least.

"Are you listening to me!?" she questioned.

"Would you either shut up, or leave!" he snapped. "I'd prefer it if you left!"

Arlianna stared at him for a moment. "Well, I can see you're in one of your moods," she chided.

"Only when you're around," he shot back.

"I see. Well I'll leave you be till tea time. Hopefully by then you'll have started to act your age, and not like a child."

"Fine," Achilles accepted wondering if she knew the irony of what she had just said. Though it was unlikely that she did. Regardless, he would much prefer to have a discussion with Burag, rather than verbally duel with her. So far the Orc had said very little, and Achilles wanted to find out more about him.

In truth though, he was a little afraid to ask. He did in fact know a little about the Orc, from what he had seen in his dreams. The Rampaging Orc in them, and the one that had been chopping wood only moments before were very different people. Something had changed him. What exactly he wasn't really sure.

With one final swing, Burag cut the last piece, before scooping up a handful of cut wood, bringing it over to the house, carefully stacking it atop of the pile of wood by the side of the house.

"You're certainly the hard worker," Achilles commented.

"Yeah," he said before turning to grab some more wood.

"Leave that for now, I want to have a chat," Achilles told him.

Burag stopped what he was doing and turned around. "Okay, I s'pose."

After clearing some phlegm that had built up in the back of his throat with a cough, Achilles began. "So, what brought you here?"

"I dunno," Burag said. "I got a feeling, so I followed it."

"And it led you here?"

"I s'pose," Burag responded.

Already Achilles could tell that it would be quite difficult to get anything out of the Orc. He had a deep emotional wound, as well as real ones in the form of scars that littered his face. One scar in particular had caught the old Cyrodilic man's attention from the moment he first saw him. It was a large one on his right cheek.

"How did you get that nasty scar on your cheek?" Achilles asked.

"Arrow,"

"Looks like it was painful," he observed.

"Can't really remember it that well."

"I think I'd remember an arrow going into my face quite clearly."

"Yeah?" Burag asked, showing annoyance. "Well I don't."

Achilles realised that he was aggravating the Orc, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. "If you don't want to talk about it then I won't bother you," the old man said as he turned for the house.

He wondered if it was even possible to get Burag to open up. If it was, then it was unlikely that he'd be the one to do it. He wasn't really a people person, and often came across as pushy, and he knew it.

The truth of the matter was that Burag was very important to Achilles. The reason was because he showed the old man that his dreams did have some foundation in reality, that they weren't some crazed reoccurring dream that he'd put unfounded faith into.

Then there was the issue of the source of his dreams. Were they Divine, or were they Daedric? That one question had plagued him most of his life. While there wasn't anything that felt evil in his visions, there was always that chance that something foul had corrupted him long ago. Much like what he felt had happened to Burag, but with far less blood-letting.

Still, from what he'd read, Daedra preferred a more direct approach to that of visions, or at least that was what he'd read and heard. They preferred blights, deaths and general corruption. This was none of that. It was simple visions of others, most of which hadn't even been born when he started having them.

Achilles stepped inside the house, closing the door shut behind him.

"Finished acting like a child?" Arlianna asked him, her arms folded, her face covered in a deep frown.

The old man sighed before he pulled the door open and stepped right back outside again.

* * *

Durza was dressed in her heavy armour, with a hefty shield in her left hand and a sword in her right. All of it was made from the thick metal known as Orichalcum.

She was leading Valerie, Rontag and Jo'Agro along the road, hoping they could see any sign of Meratur and Wren. So far they hadn't found anything.

They would get as far as Dragon Bridge then turn back. None of their rides ever took them further than that, and if they weren't there, then they might be on the mountain road that lay to the north.

There was a chance that they'd been caught off guard by a bear, or even the ghost-like apparition of an ice-wraith. They could be injured, and need help. It was unfortunate that they didn't know which route they'd taken.

Finally, they arrived at the small village sometime in the early afternoon. They asked around to no avail. They hadn't come here, which meant they'd probably taken the mountain road.

Despite Valerie recommending they rest and eat something before they continued on, Durza refused and pushed on, taking them back along the road.

They would find the junction and head up the mountain road to see if there was any sign of the two up there.

* * *

Meratur watched as the same two Nords from before opened his cell, and placed a plate of meat in front of him.

"I am going to untie you," the male told him. "We have taken precautions. If you notice, we have put an amulet of silence around your neck. That will stop any spells you might think of casting on us. If you try and reach for it, then we'll kill you. Understand?"

"Yes," Meratur said. "I understand."

The woman moved around the back of him, and untied his wrists. He waited till she had moved back out of the cell before he moved his hands around in front of him, stretching them out as he did so.

The cell door closed shut, but the two remained, watching him as he took some of the meat and took a bite out of it.

"We think that you're innocent in all this," the woman told him. "We think that you were tricked, and we want to prove it to you."

Meratur finished chewing the meat, and swallowed it before addressing them. "I believe you have made a mistake," he told them simply. "She isn't a vampire. She _cannot _be a vampire."

"How do you know her?" the man questioned. "And how long have you known her?"

"I was in the Imperial Legion around twenty-five years ago. I met her there."

"That's a long time," the woman pointed out. "I guess she looks different now then she did back then. Even an elf will show a change in that time."

He had to admit. The first thing he'd thought when he'd laid eyes on her was on how little she'd changed. She looked as he remembered her. But that didn't mean she was undead.

"She hasn't changed has she?" the man asked with a satisfied smirk. "She looks exactly the same as she did twenty-five years ago."

"Means nothing," Meratur said, dismissing it. "I know of a fellow Altmer who's over a hundred-and-eighty and looks like any human of forty-five to fifty. Just because she looks how I remember twenty-five years ago, doesn't mean that she hasn't aged."

"You're letting your feelings of friendship and loyalty get in the way," the woman told him. "It's blinding you from the truth."

"You are unbelievable!" Meratur snapped. "Just because I don't remember her looking different doesn't make her a vampire!"

"What about her flesh?" the man asked him.

Meratur's brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"Is her flesh cold?"

"A bit, but what does that have to do with anything. She's used to the climate of Cyrodiil, not Northern Skyrim. When I first moved to High Rock people noticed how cold my extremities were. It means nothing."

"Doesn't it?" the man questioned. "What about her eyes? What colour are they."

Meratur knew where the man was going with this, and he had no time for more foolish games. "What colour are a Dunmer's eyes?" he asked right back. "She has red eyes, as do the Dunmer. I might also add that she is of mixed descent, Dunmer being one of them."

"Do you know that for certain?" the woman questioned. "Or is that some story she made up?"

The Altmer shook his head. "You're grasping at nothing." He picked up the meat and began to eat some more of it. He no longer wanted to continue this stupid conversation.

"You simply don't want to admit it."

"It is not that. It is because you failed to convince me. Give me something that is evidently, undeniably true and I'll believe it."

"We've done that," the woman told him. "You just refuse to accept it."

"Again, I have to disagree. You have given me three reasons, which can all be explained without jumping to the absurd conclusion that she's a vampire."

"You're blind to the truth," the man said sympathetically.

"No, you haven't put forth the necessary evidence."

The woman sighed, shaking her head. "The elf's kinda right y'know."

The man looked at her sceptically. "How so?"

"Well we're asking him to believe someone he knows is a vampire, with very little evidence beyond our say so."

Meratur felt a little snark coming on. "Well, she's a smart one."

She glared at him. "Unless you want to be bound and gagged, I suggest you refrain from those kinda comments."

"I understand." He didn't really want his hands bound again. It was his hope that when they left, they would forget to bind his hands back up, and he could remove the amulet of silence they had put around his neck. Then he could figure a way out of here without having to worry about the binds or the amulet.

The man began scratched his face. He looked at the woman, then at Meratur. "What kinda evidence would convince you?"

"I don't know. If she had an obvious aversion to sunlight, which she doesn't"

"How about a repel undead spell?" the man suggested. "A powerful one?"

"Only if it affects her," Meratur told them. "Whatever you do has to affect her in a way that it wouldn't affect a mortal."

"Then that's what we do," the woman agreed.

"Of course," Meratur continued, "You have to catch her, which I doubt you'll accomplish."

"Don't be too sure of that. We'll get her, it's only a matter of when."

The man gestured to someone who was out of Meratur's sight. An Altmer dressed in white robes stepped into view, before he placed his hand over the lock to his cell.

"There is now a seal over the lock," the Nord man said. "Try and use magic to open it, and it'll kill you. Understand?"

"Yes," Meratur replied, fully understanding the implications of what the man had just said.

It seemed he would have to rethink his intended method of escape, as using magic was now not a very wise option..

* * *

Sneaking into Solitude was easy. Especially when you knew a few tricks like Wren did.

She moved through the city as swiftly as possible towards her house, not drawing any undue attention to herself. She arrived at her front door, and promptly unlocked it.

Looking around the house, it quickly became clear that Durza wasn't here. Her armour and weaponry was even gone, which meant that she was probably out looking for them.

Now she had two choices. Wait for the Orsimer to return or go out looking for her. Wren decided that she couldn't just sit here for the next several hours.

After relieving her self in the rest-room, she grabbed some fresh clothes, a large satchel and as much coin as she could fit in it. Then, she promptly made her way out of her house, her destination being the blacksmith. It was her hope that she could grab some decent weaponry, before she headed out.

It wast too bad the local smiths knew nothing about making crossbows, as she could have done with one about now. Whatever he had in stock would have to do, as she didn't have the time to wait for him to smith anything.

Making her way through the castle grounds and through the arch to where the blacksmith had his shop, she found him outside by the forge, a line of steel swords on a table.

"Excuse me?" she said, getting his attention.

The smith near jumped clear out of his skin. "Woah!" he barked. "Where did you sneak up from!?"

"Lost in thought?" she asked him.

He nodded, resting his hand on his chest. "Something like that. What can I do for you?"

"I need a good sword," she told him.

He gestured towards the table. "We got Nord steel, Imperial steel and some iron I made for those who don't have the coin. A lot come through looking for cheap swords." He smiled. "But I hear retirement for an ex-general is quite generous."

"Anything better?" she asked, anticipating disappointment.

"Better?" he questioned. "If you want better, then I s'pose you can order one. If you have the material you want it made of, then I'll smith you one up the best I can. Might take a few days, though."

"I guess Nord steel will have to do."

The smith, who Wren had never learnt the name of, screwed his face up. "Don't say it like that. Makes it sound like Nord steel is useless."

"Not at all," she said, not wanting to offend him lest he raise the price. "I'll take a steel sword."

"I'll sell you one for fifty gold, how's that sound?"

"I'll take it," she said, reaching into her satchel. She passed him the gold and took one of the Nordic steel swords off of the table.

"I hope it serves you well," the smith said, as he turned back to his forge.

She promptly left, heading silently along the road hoping that she would find Durza. While she didn't really like the Orc, she needed her help to save Meratur, as she was undoubtedly a skilled warrior, and would make an excellent diversion.

* * *

The road was much colder up here then it was further down in the Haafingar mountain range. Durza had led the small group all the way up here from Dragon Bridge, as they had been known to ride this way. The late afternoon air was surprisingly crisp, and all around them the ground was covered in soft white snow.

The Orc stopped and raised her head, sniffing at the air. Rontag looked over at his wife with frown.

"What's wrong?" Valerie whispered to her husband.

"She's sniffing the air like a dog again," he replied.

"I heard that!" Durza warned him. "But that's not important now. I smell the flesh of the recently dead on the wind."

"They're dead!?" Valerie questioned in distress.

Durza looked at her with annoyance. "Not them, fool; something else." She began to move on, the rest following closely behind.

It wasn't till they moved over a crest in the road did they see a dead horse with a pack of three wolves eating its carcass.

"Disgusting," Jo'Agro said under his breath.

The Orc raised her hand and the others stopped. "That is Meratur's horse," she told them.

"Looks like they were attacked," Rontag said. "Bandits?" he questioned.

The Orc drew her sword. "We won't find out with those wolves in the way."

Rontag reached for his two-handed battle-axe, before he remembered with a grimace that he no longer had it. He awkwardly drew his steel sword as Valerie drew her imperial sword. Jo'Agro on the other hand simply stood and watched as the three of them began to move forward, towards the wolves.

One of the wolves pulled its head out of the horse's gut and began to growl. The other two did the same shortly after.

"Pick a target," Durza said to the two Nords. "I'm taking the largest one."

The wolves began to move around the dead animal, protecting it from the threat before them.

"I'll take the one on the far side," Rontag said.

"I guess I have middle," Valerie said.

"No messing around," Durza told them firmly. "Go for the brain, neck or heart. Preferably the brain." Durza began to run towards the targets, catching the two Nords off guard. They increased their own pace, keeping up with the Orc. The wolves began to move themselves, bolting towards the three that approached them.

The Orc raised her sword up, angling it so that it was facing downwards. As the wolf lunged at her, she brought it down, the blade penetrating its skull.

Valerie and Rontag on the other-hand, had a little more trouble. Valerie swung at her target, but it leapt clear, while Rontag simply swung his sword wildly, unsure how to properly wield it, unlike a battle-axe.

Durza moved over from the lifeless wolf before her, and promptly decapitated the one Valerie was fighting, before moving over to Rontag's target stabbing it through the side of the head.

The Orc glared at the two Nords for a moment, disgusted by their incompetence. She then continued on towards the dead horse. She knelt by it, before looking around at the tree-line.

"Do you think the wolves attacked them?" Rontag asked.

Durza looked over at him before shaking her head. "No, this horse was killed by fire."

"Fire?" Valerie asked looking around. "As in magic fire?"

"It smells like magic."

"You can _smell _it?" Rontag questioned disbelieving.

The Orc stood up inhaled deeply. "Meratur!" she yelled at the top of her lungs.

"Think they're nearby?" Valerie asked her.

The Orc looked back down at the horse. "It is worth trying," she told the Nord.

"Do we continue on?" Rontag asked.

"Yes," Durza said. "We shall head another mile or so down this road."

"And after that?" Valerie asked.

Without answering, Durza began to make her way down the road. Valerie and Rontag moved after her, while Jo'Agro ran to catch them up.

"Meratur!" Durza shouted again.

"One moment!" Jo'Agro said urgently, stopping in his tracks. The others halted, turning to him.

"What is it!?" Durza questioned.

"Jo'Agro thought he heard someone shout the Orc's name," the Khajiit told them.

"Was it Meratur?"

"Khajiit does not know," he said. "However, it came from behind."

In an instant Durza was moving quickly past him, back in the direction from which they had come. "Meratur!" she shouted even louder.

Faint on the wind, they heard someone shout something back. The Orc broke into a jog, the others following her close behind.

"Meratur!" Durza shouted.

"Meratur!" Rontag joined in.

Suddenly they heard the crackling of flame. They looked around to see Jo'Agro shooting fireballs into the sky. "A marker," he told them. "To guide the one shouting Durza's name this way."

The Orc shouted Meratur's name once more. They then listened to what sounded like a female voice shouting back.

"Wren!" the Orc sputtered. "If she has gotten Meratur killed, then I will show her, her own heart!"

"Woah!" Rontag blurted out in surprise. "Bit much don't y'think?"

Durza stopped, as did the others. "We wait here," she said ignoring him. "When she gets here, she better explain herself!"

"I'm sure she'll tell us what happened," Valerie said confidently.

Wren soon became visible as she made her way up along the road. She broke into a run, quickly coming up on them.

The first thing that the two Nords noticed was at how unusually young she looked. The second was at how oddly pretty she was.

"Where's Meratur!" Durza bellowed at her.

"Calm yourself," Wren responded, her voice harsh. "We were attacked along this road, and Meratur has been taken captive."

The Orc looked her up and down. "You've changed your attire," she observed.

"I went to Solitude looking for you." She looked at the other three that stood with her. "Who are they?"

"The Nords are friends of Meratur. The cat is a tag-along."

"Hey!" Jo'Agro said in defiance. "Khajiit is _not_ a tag-along."

"So where is he?" the Orc questioned furiously.

"In an old fort, Northwatch Keep."

"Take us there now!" Durza shouted.

"I intend to," Wren responded calmly. "Follow me."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter V**

The large Dunmer port city of Blacklight loomed ahead. Its strange Dunmeri styling appeared quite hostile to Magoza, especially the way the buildings cast shadows in the early evening sun.

They stepped through the gates where Llandri asked a bonemold clad guard where the cheapest inn was. The guard pointed, before Llandri thanked him, promptly leading them there.

As soon as they entered the rather rickety looking establishment, red eyes turned their way, focusing mostly on Hides. While it wasn't unheard of for there to be an Argonian in Blacklight, it certainly wasn't common; especially after Red-Year and the subsequent Argonian invasion that had at one point resulted in the loss of the city of Almalexia, which was more commonly known as Mournhold.

The patrons soon turned back to their conversations, ignoring the newcomers.

Llandri headed over to the bar followed by the other three. "Excuse me?" she asked the grey-haired scabby faced Dunmer who stood behind it.

"Yeah, whatta ya want?" he asked, his accent sounding even rougher than the Karo's. "Wouldcha like something t' drink or summit?"

"No, we're looking fer a room?" she said to him.

"Sorry lass, but we're all filled up," he told her.

"Erm, well d'ya happen to know when a ship is due to head off to Solstheim?"

"Sorry luv, but it just set off this mornin'. Won't be back fer another few days I'm 'fraid."

"Oh," she said with disappointment. "We'll just have something to eat then."

"Sure, what'll it be?"

"What's cheap?"

"Got bread, roasted ash yam an' some rat pie. Cheapest things on th' menu they are."

"Just some roasted ash yam then," Llandri ordered.

"Excellent, just sit yerselves down on over there an' it'll be over soon."

Llandri promptly led them to a table in the corner where they all sat down, Hides making sure he was closest to the wall.

"Do ya see 'em?" Brendarr asked suddenly, a sneer spreading across his face.

"What?" his mother said, looking around. "See who?"

"That Bosmer, and how he's looking at that one-handed cat all luvvy duvvy." He pulled a face. "Disgusting."

"Give it a rest fer once in yer life!" Llandri snapped at him. "If a Bosmer wants to bed a bloody Khajiit, then let him. It's no concern of yours!"

The inn went deathly silent. The two in question were now staring over at them, the Bosmer having gone bright red. "I'm off for some air," he said before standing up and promptly leaving. The Khajiit soon rose up, following him out.

Llandri glared at Brendarr, who sunk slightly in his chair. "Sorry mother," he apologised.

"Ya will be when the innkeeper throws us out fer scaring off customers!" she said in a harsh, but hushed tone.

Brendarr said nothing. He simply looked away.

Magoza who had been silently observing, not wanting to intervene spoke up, as the innkeeper approached with their food. "Dinner's here," she said.

The man put the food down. "That'll be twelve drakes."

Llandri quickly pulled out the coin and gave it to him. "Thank you," she said.

They tucked into their meal of roasted ash yam in silence.

* * *

Faldan felt embarrassed. The four strangers had very quickly picked up on his feelings for Rasha, and it made him wonder who else had. Did Tam know? Did _Rasha _know?

He felt sick. A relationship with a Khajiit would never work. They were just far to different from each other, not to mention that he was a pathetic failure.

"Wait up!" Rasha called from behind.

He realised that he'd been practically running through the streets. He stopped, letting her catch him up.

"Why'd you run off?" she questioned. "I know what that woman said was crass, but don't take it to heart. People see a male and female sat together and they're going to think something's going on, when it's not."

Faldan looked away, trying not to give how he felt about her away. It was hard enough that the Dunmer woman had shouted it out for all to hear. For Rasha to figure it out, would be too much. He didn't want these feelings, but yet they were there and persisted like an unwanted boil.

"Are you okay Faldan?" Rasha asked him, moving herself in front of him so she could look at his face.

"Fine," he said dismissively. "Just wanted some air. It was stuffy in there."

"Y'know, I'm not sure I believe that," Rasha said.

"I was offended by what she said," he lied.

"Really?" the Ohmes-Raht-Khajiit questioned. "I would've just ignored it. Not like there's any truth in it right?"

Faldan didn't reply. Instead, he turned away, hoping she wouldn't press him further on the issue.

"Do you have feelings for me?" she asked after a moment.

"It's nothing," he replied, hoping she'd leave it be.

Rasha stepped in front of him again, placing her pawed hand on his shoulder. "We're going to have to talk this through," she said to him. "Do you have feelings for me?" she asked again.

"I don't know," he told her.

"I think you do know," she said forcefully.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You're going to have to Faldan," she said. "If you're attracted to me, then I need to know. We need to work this out."

"Do you find me attractive?" he asked her back.

"You're a nice looking mer," she told him, "but I don't really have feelings for you beyond the friendship we've developed."

"Then it doesn't matter what I feel."

"Of course it does Faldan."

"Then I love you," he confided in her.

She let his shoulder go. "Is it love, or infatuation?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you actually love me, or is it just that I'm the closest you've been to a female in a while?"

"I don't have any feelings like this for Tam," Faldan pointed out.

"Yeah, but you're absolutely terrified of her," Rasha said. "I don't know what to say to you." The Khajiit briefly looked up at the sky, before focusing her attention back on the mer. "I just don't feel the same way about you, sorry."

"It doesn't matter anyway," the Bosmer said. "I'm pathetic."

"No you're not," Rasha told him. "Well, maybe a little," she amended, half in jest.

"Thanks," he responded bitterly.

"Look, you've got some healing skill and that's a big plus. Hey, who knows, you might find a nice Dunmer girl."

He shuddered. "I dunno, they have creepy eyes and their skin's the colour of ash."

Rasha looked around making sure no one was in earshot. "Can you not say things like that when we're, y'know, standing in the middle of a Dunmer city surrounded by thousands of them."

"Sorry."

"Well let's forget that for now. C'mon, we should get back to the inn."

"Okay."

They both began to make their way back down the road, before he stopped her.

"What is it?" she questioned.

"Listen, I'm off to go ask around to see if anybody's hiring. I'll meet you back at the inn later, okay?"

"I thought you asked around the other day?" Rasha said.

"I did. Maybe something's come up."

"Well, make sure you don't get yourself lost."

"Don't worry, I'll be fine. I'll be back at the inn before Tam gets off work."

"Okay then. See you later."

"Sure."

He moved off. He had no real intention of asking around if there was any work. He'd already given up on that prospect, at least for this month.

Faldan found a low wall, and promptly sat on it. He stared, his mind dwelling on what had transpired. His worse fears had come to fruition. Rasha didn't like him the same way he liked her.

He wasn't surprised. She was right, he was pathetic. A sad lonely mer, with no prospects of a decent, happy future.

He sat there, watching a lamplighter as he moved from post to post, igniting them, casting the area aglow. He appeared to be in a rush. Judging by how dark it was, he suspected that the Dunmer was late, and feared being disciplined.

With a heavy sigh, he stood up, slowly making his way back to the Ghostview Inn.

* * *

Thankfully, another fourteen hour work shift was coming to an end. While Tam didn't hate it here, she always liked being able to sit and rest back at the inn at the end of the day. Though if she was honest with herself, every day she started to hate it a little more.

She was starting to feel like they were taking advantage of her. More and more they were sitting around while she did all the heavy lifting.

What made things worse, was that this morning after she had asked Erebon about the possibility of hiring Faldan or Rasha, she had heard some of the other Dunmer workers start to say things about Rasha mockingly. She had even heard one say that the Khajiit was her pet, and wondered if she was house-trained. Erebon had said he'd think about it, but ultimately she felt that he was just being polite in his disregard for her suggestion for their employment.

Tam ignored it at first, but as the day had gone on, it had begun to wear thin. It didn't help that they had done very little work that day, expecting her to do it all.

Of course if this kept up, then she'd just ask Erebon if she could have their pay, considering she was doing their share of the work, and having to listen to their bigotry while she was at it.

Finally, the bell by the door to the warehouse was rung, meaning it was the end of yet another day. Tam quickly left and began to make her way back to the inn. First though, she wanted to pass a hut that was for-sale. It was a bit small for the three of them to live in, but it was a start and would end up being far cheaper than living at the inn. Besides it would give them a rung on the property ladder. It might be the very bottom step, but at least they would be on it.

For several moments, Tam stared at the small hut. It was bigger than other huts around the waterfront, looking like it could maybe hold two people. But she was after trying to fit all three of them in it. Then again, if they found employment, then maybe she could have it all to herself. She'd like that.

After a while, she moved on, making her way back to the inn, enjoying the evening air.

Finally she set foot back at the inn, moving over to the table where Faldan and Rasha usually sat, and were doing at that moment.

"Evening," Rasha greeted. "Good day at the docks?"

"It was okay," she replied.

The Khajiit turned to Faldan. "Hey, why don't you go order us some food and drinks," she suggested.

"Erm, sure." He rose up from his chair and made his way over to the bar.

Rasha leaned closer to Tam. "Did you know Faldan has really strong feelings for me?"

"Yeah, I think he's infatuated or something," Tam told her. "Why, didn't you know?"

"No, I didn't. Not until some woman shouted it out earlier. They're gone now luckily."

"Some random stranger noticed and you didn't?"

"I was totally oblivious."

"Wow, I don't know what to say," Tam said with amusement, trying to hide the smirk that crossed her face.

"It's not really that funny," Rasha said with annoyance. "The guy might be in love with me, and I haven't got a clue what to do about it."

They both went silent as Faldan sat down. "Just ordered what we had yesterday," he told them.

"Excellent," Tam said. "I have something to tell the both of you."

"What?" Rasha asked.

"I've been looking at a hut. It's seven-thousand which is a little out of our price range, but if we save I think we may have it within the next four to five months."

"You want to buy a house?" Rasha asked.

"The taxes will be cheaper than renting rooms," Tam pointed out. "Besides it'll be our own place."

"How many rooms does this place have?" Rasha asked.

"No idea. It's a kind of you get what you buy. There is no browsing before-hand."

"It's only one room isn't it?" Rasha said.

"Probably," Tam said back. "Though if the two of you want to stay here, then fine. But when the time comes I want to actually be able to have a place I can call my own."

"What about the Thalmor?" Rasha questioned. "What if they show up?"

"Then we move on."

Faldan let out a whimper. Tam looked over at him. "What?"

"Is this how it is?" he asked in a quiet whisper. "Is this how it will be? Every time they show up, we will be forced to flee?"

"That's how I've lived my life for the last few years," Tam told him. "Ever since the so-called emperor had my comrades put on the block because of the terms of the White Gold Concordat, I have been hunted."

"You think they'll give up?" Faldan asked her.

"I think they will eventually, when they no longer think I'm worth chasing. The thing is that they see me as a personal insult. I was born and raised in Alinor as Thalmor. I turned my back on it, then later actively fought them. They're pissed off at me, that's for certain."

"So we're in more danger being near you?" Faldan questioned.

Rasha tapped the tabletop with the stump that lay at the end of her right arm, getting his attention. "Don't forget that you sold her out back in Cyrodiil. You still have a debt to pay, and that debt like it or not, involves us looking out for each other."

"Which would be easier if you two would find employment," Tam pointed out.

"We're working on it," Faldan said.

"Really?" Tam questioned. "So if I spoke to the innkeeper, he wouldn't tell me that you both spend the day in here then?"

"Actually he would," Rasha revealed. "Because we do spend a lot of time in here. Faldan did at least go out this evening to look for work. Didn't go well."

"You two could try and get a job here?" Tam suggested.

"Already asked," Rasha said. "Said he didn't want fur in the food or drinks."

"And what about Faldan?"

"Don't want to work here," he said.

"Can I ask you a question?" Rasha began. "What did you do back in Windhelm?"

"I helped out at the docks when a ship came in," he told them.

"So you have dock experience?" Tam asked with frustration. "Why in Oblivion didn't you say anything!?"

"Because I don't like the water," he told them. "I can't swim."

"You don't have to get in the water," Tam said. "You could help take stuff from the dock to the warehouse."

Rasha nodded. "Yesterday you said you were going to ask whether there were jobs at the dock?" she said to Tam. "What did he say?"

"No for now. Though if the other lazy bastards don't get their fingers out then, I may just start demanding their pay."

"That bad?"

"I guess when someone comes along that's willing to work hard, the others see it as an excuse to sit around bone-idle."

"Wow, maybe me and Faldan will have a job before too long after-all."

"I shouldn't hold your breath," Tam warned her. "The folks down there are a bit on the racist side, and it wouldn't surprise me if the Erebon was as well."

"Why did we come here again?" Rasha asked sarcastically.

"It's not the best circumstance," Tam agreed. "But I'd rather be here than have my head on a Thalmor block."

They all went quiet as their food and drinks were brought over. After Tam gave him the coin they began to eat.

* * *

It was almost pitch black. The whiteness of the snow helped them navigate as they all descended the shallow part of the mountain. Soon they were at the bottom, moving along the sand on the shore of the Sea of Ghosts.

"Hold it here," Wren said. Everyone but Durza did, who kept moving on. "Where're you going?" Wren called after her.

"To save Meratur, who _you _got caught."

"You can't waltz in there without a plan!" she called after her.

Valerie stepped forward. "Durza, if you go there without a plan, then Meratur may end up dead."

The Orc stopped. She turned around slowly. "Okay, Maralda, give us a plan or shut up!"

Wren cleared her throat. "The four of you create a distraction while I sneak in."

"Okay," Valerie said. "What kind of distraction?"

"Make it look like you're trying to attack the west side of the fort, while I sneak in the east side."

"And what's stopping them from killing Meratur when we do that?" Durza questioned.

"They won't."

"How do you know?" Rontag asked.

"Yes," Durza added. "How do you know? Do you know who they are?"

"Vigilants of Stendarr," Wren revealed.

"What do they want with Meratur?" Valerie asked. "Do they think he's a Daedra worshipper or something?"

"Not sure. All I know is that they've got him in there."

"Maybe we should talk to them?" Valerie suggested. "Find out their motives. This might all be a mistake. I'd hate to hurt or kill people based on a simple misunderstanding."

"Not an option," Wren told them flatly.

"Why?" Rontag asked.

"That is a good question," Durza added. "Why can we not talk to them?"

Wren's eyebrows rose involuntarily in surprise. "You're the last person I'd expect to want to go the diplomatic route."

"That is because you know nothing about Orcs," Durza said.

"Jo'Agro agrees. Diplomacy is always preferable to conflict."

"It would be if it was an option," Wren said. "But it is not."

"You're hiding something," Durza accused.

"This isn't up for debate. You create a diversion, you don't even have to kill anyone. Just create one. I get Meratur out. Once he is safe, then if you're still so inclined, you can then initiate a dialogue with them if you so wish."

Durza growled. "If you're trying to show us you're in charge by lobbing big words around, then it won't work."

"I was a general in the Imperial Legion," Wren pointed out. "I know what I'm doing when it comes to things like this."

"So you won't even consider it?" Valerie asked.

"Once Meratur is safe, then yes."

"But there won't be any point then," Rontag pointed out.

"Perhaps not. But we do the plan my way, is that understood soldiers!?" When she said it, she stared directly at Valerie and Rontag. She knew they had been in the legion, and wondered if their training still held up.

Both of them as expected stood up straight at attention, but Valerie quickly relaxed, glaring at her. "We're not in the legion anymore, and you're certainly not our commanding officer!"

"Do you want to rescue Meratur, or do you want to stand here and argue for the next month!?"

"I say we talk," Valerie said.

"So do I," Rontag added.

"It is the best choice," Durza agreed.

"Jo'Agro also believes it is best choice."

Wren clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth together.

"Look at it this way," Valerie began. "If things don't go well, then we're still giving you that distraction."

"Fine!" Wren relented. "Just make sure you're on your guard. I'll get myself into a position so that I can see you. If I think things are going badly, I'll sneak in and get him out. Just make sure you're able to take them. They know magic, so be careful."

"We will," Valerie told her.

"Get going then," Wren told them.

They moved off, leaving her behind. Nothing good would come of this, she knew it.

* * *

Valerie led the way towards Northwatch Keep. It didn't take long till those that occupied it noticed them.

"Who're you!?" a woman shouted from where she stood on the high wall.

Valerie halted and looked up at her, raising her hand to stop the others. "We're here to talk," she said.

"About what?" the woman questioned.

The Nord knew this was where things might get tricky. If she mentioned Meratur's name, then they might not react well.

"I asked you a question!?" the woman said, demanding a response.

Valerie gave her one. "We understand that you are holding a High-Elf called Meratur."

The woman looked around. "Who told you that?" she questioned.

"Just want to talk," Valerie said to her. "Understand why you have him?"

"Are you her thralls!?" the woman demanded.

Valerie glanced over at the others. "Thralls?" she asked them.

Rontag shrugged. "No idea."

Durza said nothing. She just glared.

"Jo'Agro has heard term before," the Khajiit told them. "Used to describe ones controlled by another. Usually associated with vampires."

Valerie looked back up at the woman on the wall. "We're not thralls."

"No!?" she asked sceptically. "You sure about that!?"

"Yes," Valerie told her. "Why, what makes you think we are?"

Durza interrupted. "Is that why you're holding Meratur?" she asked, her voice forceful. "Do you think he is a thrall?"

"No, he's not a thrall. A bit dim, but not a thrall."

"What makes you say that?" Rontag asked. "Seems smart enough to me."

Suddenly Durza drew her sword, right before she was struck by some kind of magic. Her body went stiff, and she fell to the ground, her form rigid like a statue.

They all spun around to see an elderly looking High-Elf, dressed in white robes, with an amulet of Stendarr around his neck.

Rontag drew his own sword, but the elven mage struck him, then Jo'Agro with the same spell he had hit Durza with, causing them to fall to the ground.

"Don't try it!" the woman shouted to Valerie from above. "Just give up and you won't be harmed!"

There was nothing she could do, and she knew it. All there was now, was to surrender and hope Wren could figure a way to rescue all of them.

* * *

The retired general knew this would happen. She watched as they were quickly apprehended. Alarmingly so.

"Morons!" she said to herself.

To say she was annoyed by the current outcome was an understatement. Now she had more people to rescue than just Meratur. She should have just tried to rescue him on her own. Now things would be far more difficult. They were not only expecting her now, but they would be somewhat prepared.

She would have to come up with a plan. While she didn't really care for any of the others, she knew that by bringing them here, she had accepted them as her responsibility.

Raising her right hand, she cast her seldom-used invisibility spell before slowly making her way down towards the fort.

Even though she was almost completely transparent, she knew that a good eye could spot the distortion. Luckily it was almost completely dark, the sun having set a good few hours before.

Wren froze as she saw the Altmer in white robes, stood on top of the wall. His gaze fell on her location, and she found herself holding her breath.

He looked away, and she sighed a breath of relief. Wren didn't have time to react before a spell shot from his hand. It struck her, causing her to stagger, her limbs feeling as though great weights had been placed on them. He then fired another, straight for her. Unable to move out-of-the-way, it struck her, causing her to fall to the dirt.

She was infuriated. Not just because she had been caught, but because she had been so easily overcome.

Wren felt herself get lifted to her feet. A Nord man looked her in the eye.

"We have you now, vampire!" he spat.

If it were possible in her current state, she would have laughed in his face.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter VI**

It had been several hours before dawn when Cassiopia had woken Malthar up, and drag him out into the night.

Even as they both rode their horses slowly down the cobbled road in the wilderness beyond Jehanna, he didn't know why they were out here, or where they were even going.

"Shunt be far now," Cassi told him nonchalantly.

"Huh?" was all his addled mind could think to say.

"Are ya okay?" she asked.

Malthar rubbed his face with his free hand. "Why are we out here again?" he questioned.

"I told ya, we're huntin' a bounty," she said, as though he should already know.

"Bounty!?" he exclaimed in surprise. "At this time?"

"What d'ya mean by that?" she asked. "Early mornin's the best time to be doing it. They're most likely sleepin'."

"I'm barely awake," he began.

"I can see that," she interrupted. "Which is why it's the best time, as they'll also be barely awake, if the guy's even still up."

"I can't be out here hunting bounties," he continued, ignoring her. "I don't even know how to fight."

"I don't expect ya to. Yer here to keep me company, that's it."

"Well couldn't I have kept you company in spirit, and y'know left me asleep in that nice comfy bed." He pointed at her Mithril armour. "And look at you. I'm dressed in clothes, and you're in full armour."

"I thought you'd like the adventure," Cassi said to him. "Anyway, I think this time-a-day is the best time. Ya can see the sky startin' to light up with the sun, an' the birds and animals are all still sleepin'."

"Wish I was," Malthar muttered.

"Come off it Mal," Cassi said to him, becoming annoyed by his incessant moaning. "Don't ya like spendin' time with me?"

"Very much so," he admitted. "More than anything else." He winced as he realised he'd said more than he had intended.

"Aww, that's sweet of ya to say," Cassi teased.

"How far is our destination?" he asked, quickly changing the subject.

"Another half-mile I guess," she informed him. "Anyway, I wanna hear more about how ya like to spend time with me?"

"Umm, let's wait till we've finished this bounty," Malthar suggested.

"Okay, if ya say so," she accepted. "Come on, we have to go off the road here, towards a cave."

"How do you know that?" Malthar questioned.

"'Cause I asked," she told him. "I got told as much as I could on the bounty an' his whereabouts."

"What's he wanted for?"

"Tax evasion."

"That's it?"

"Yep. It wasn't that he couldn't afford to pay it neither. Apparently he just don't like openin' his coin-purse."

"And he ran off because of it?" Malthar asked. "Rather than pay his taxes?" He wasn't sure he believed it. This guy was either incredibly tight, or simply didn't have enough coin to pay his due.

"They were off to throw him in the dungeon fer a week. Teach him a lesson or sumthin'," Cassi said. "But he ran off."

"And they put a bounty on him for that!?" Malthar questioned. "Why not just leave him?"

"Well he caused some property damage while he was fleein'," she explained. "Might be spendin' a whole month in the dungeon now, dependin' on how much coin he coughs up that is. But from what I hear, they'll be shakin' him pretty hard before any drops out." She pulled on the reins, bringing her horse to a stop. Malthar did the same. "We're here," she told him, as she dismounted.

"Can I stay outside?" Malthar asked, hoping she'd grant this one request. "To look after the horses I mean?" he added, to make it seem like he wasn't such a coward.

"Tie 'em to the tree there," she said pointing. "And no, I want to show ya how one subdues criminal scum."

Malthar climbed down from his horse. "Fine, but I already told you, I don't know how to fight."

"And I told ya not to worry 'bout it," she told him assuredly. "And hey, once we get back to Jehanna, maybe I could give ya some lessons?"

The Breton, who was leading his horse towards the tree looked around with a frown. "I honestly have no interest in swordplay."

"How 'bout magic?" she asked. "Yer a Breton. Yer supposed to be good at all things magic, right?"

"I never learnt," he said. "Know nothing about it."

"Well I'll teach ya," she said.

"I don't know," he said unsure. He hated the thought of failure. From what he'd learned in his twenty-something years alive, was that it was difficult to fail, when one never tried.

"Come on," Cassi said. "Don't tell me ya never wanted to zap someone wi' lightnin' before. Singe their clothes an' all that?"

"Not really."

"That's 'cause yer borin'," she told him as she also led her horse over to the tree.

As Malthar tied his horse to a rather thick branch, he looked back at her. "Is that what you think of me?" he asked.

"I'm kiddin'," Cassi told him with a smirk, as she tied her own horse up. "Ya need to lighten up, Mal."

"Sorry. It's just that I don't like being dragged out of bed at stupid hours."

"What's yer excuse th' rest of the time?" she mocked playfully, as she pulled out a torch, wrapping a piece of rag around the end.

Malthar looked across at the cave. Suddenly a thought crossed his mind. "Do you think we should be talking?" he asked. "The guy might hear us."

"Should be fine," she said back. "Accordin' to some old guy I spoke to who used to be an adventurer back in the day, this cave only has one entrance an' exit. So even if he does he can't go nowhere."

"Yeah, but caves change," he pointed out. "And it might give him chance to ambush us."

"Lighten up, Mal. He's a tax evader, not like he's a necromancer or sumthin'."

A shudder went down Malthar's spine. "Why did you have to say that?"

"Stop bein' a baby an' come on," Cassi said as she made her way over to the cave entrance. She ignited the rag on the torch, before drawing her sword. She looked around at him to see him stood there unmoving. "Come on!" she repeated.

Reluctantly, Malthar followed. They both moved down into a long wide passageway, before it opened up into the cave proper.

The Breton held his hand to his nose as a rancid odour assaulted his nostrils. "What's that smell!?" he said, almost gagging.

"Death," Cassi said. "Stay right behind me. This cave has more than one chamber, so watch out an' tell me if ya see hear, or smell anythin'."

Malthar stepped in line, as Cassi led the way forward, holding the torch out in front of her.

"I think I see 'im." Cassi pointed using her sword. "Here," she said, giving him the torch. Malthar took it, remaining silent.

That silence didn't last long however, when he caught sight of the corpse. "Oh, Gods!" he sputtered. The man's neck was twisted oddly, and his body was pulverized.

"Sumthin' else was livin' here," Cassi told him, speaking in a hushed tone. "Might still be livin' here," she quickly amended.

"I think we should leave," Malthar suggested earnestly.

"Agreed." They turned to leave, only to have the way back blocked by a large brown troll. "This ain't good," Cassi said, rather obviously.

"What do we do!?" Malthar said, his voice almost drown out as the troll let out a loud roar.

"Stay behind me!" Cassi told him. She raised her sword, with flame erupting in the palm of her left hand. "Trolls don't like fire."

"Hope not," he responded.

"Can ya please move?" she asked it. The troll roared once more and thumped its chest.

"Does that mean it likes us, or that it's going to kill us?" Malthar questioned, a quiver in his voice.

Cassi held up her flaming hand. "See this?" she asked it. "This is fire. It burns really bad. So unless ya wanna feel the pain of my flame, then get outta the way."

"I don't think it can understand you," Malthar told her.

"Pity." A gout of fire erupted from her palm, causing the troll to cry out and charge.

Malthar made sure he was well out-of-the-way, as he watched Cassi move gracefully around the charging beast, slashing it across its chest and right arm. The troll swung its mighty arm, and struck her, knocking her to the dirt. Malthar tensed up, as he watch it raise its arms above its head and brought them down. There was a hefty thump and a cloud of dust as its fists smashed into the ground. Cassi, luckily, had managed to roll clear.

She clambered back to her feet and put her wrists close together, cupping her hands. A pillar of fire erupted from them, striking the troll in the face. It staggered for a moment, giving Cassi the chance to dive to the ground, grabbing her sword.

Getting back to her feet after completing a roll, she shot a bolt of fire at its face, before plunging her sword deep into its chest. The troll began to stagger, swinging its arms wildly. Cassi dodged, striking it with more flames.

Finally it collapsed into the dirt, its body twitching, before it went completely still. Cassi retrieved her sword, looking over at Malthar who stood there, torch in hand, with his mouth agape.

"Ya okay?" she questioned with concern.

"You need to teach me some of those spells!" he uttered. "That was amazing!"

She couldn't help but smile. "Come on, we better report this to the city guard or someone."

Malthar nodded. "Yes, then I can go back to bed and get some sleep."

Cassi's smile turned to a grin. "That ya can." She gestured out of the cave. "Lead the way."

Malthar moved up out of the cave, Cassi following close behind.

* * *

Rontag opened his eyes, to find himself on his side. His head was pounding as if he'd drunk half a barrel of mead.

"Good to see you're awake," he heard a familiar voice say.

Rontag looked over to see Meratur sat on the cold stone floor beside him. With much effort, he pushed himself into a sitting position, seeing Jo'Agro still unconscious in the corner.

"Where're the others?" he asked.

"In the cells around us," Meratur informed him. "Your wife and Durza are in the cage opposite."

Rontag looked forward to see the two laying on their side, their eyes closed. "Are they okay?" he asked with concern.

"I think so. Wren is in the left cell opposite us. You can barely see her from here."

"They caught her too?" Rontag questioned.

"Brought her in not long after you."

"What do they want with us?"

Meratur's gaze went to Wren. "They want her. For some reason they think she's a vampire."

"A vampire?" Rontag glared at the unconscious elf. "Is she one?"

"I'm honestly not sure," Meratur revealed. "I'd like to think she isn't, and that this is all some kind of stupid mistake."

"I guess they know how to find out?" Rontag said.

"Perhaps," Meratur replied. "We'll see when they come in."

"They aren't guarding us?"

"There are guards down the hall I believe."

"Have you tried shouting them?" Rontag asked. "Get their attention."

"I try not to," he replied. "Them being here takes away from me being able to think of a way to escape. However, they have put some kind of spell on the locks."

"A spell?" Rontag questioned.

"Yes. I believe it will explode if I try to unlock it via spell or other means."

"So, you've done nothing?"

"On the contrary, I have been thinking quite a bit on how I might escape if Wren failed to show. I had anticipated this outcome, however not with you and Valerie being involved."

"I guess you wouldn't have been expecting us."

"No, I wasn't," Meratur said. "Just a question. Where is Taemwyn?"

"Gone her own way."

"I see. So we shouldn't be expecting a rescue from her then?" Meratur asked.

"No," Rontag confirmed.

"Then we must think of something ourselves," Meratur said.

"Yes."

They both looked forward as they heard someone stir in the cell opposite. They saw Valerie slowly push herself up into a sitting position.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Locked up in the cells of Northwatch Keep," Meratur informed her.

"Oh," she said disappointed. "I guess they didn't want to talk after-all."

"No," Durza's groggy voice added. "That is the last time I give them the chance to sneak up on me." She forced herself into a sitting position. "We wait on Wren now," she said.

"Sorry, but she's unconscious in the cell next to you," Meratur told the two of them. "There'll be no rescue from her."

"Then we either convince them to let us go, or we kill them," Durza said. "Either way we will be getting out of here."

Rontag looked down at Jo'Agro. "Think he's okay?"

"He is still breathing," Meratur observed.

"Hey cat!" Rontag barked. "You okay?"

"No," Jo'Agro replied. "Adventure it seems, is overrated."

"So you're awake?" Rontag asked. "I thought you were out cold."

"No, Khajiit is still unconscious."

Meratur smiled, while Rontag frowned. "Watch it cat!" the Nord warned. He didn't like being smart-mouthed, especially by a Khajiit.

There was commotion down the hall. Not long after, a Nord man and woman were stood between the cells. "Everyone awake?" the man asked.

"Wren isn't," Meratur told them.

The man turned to the woman. "Fetch him to wake her." The woman left, soon returning with the same elderly High-Elf that had paralysed them outside.

"What's going on?" Valerie asked, unable to see the mer dressed in white robes.

"The mage is stood outside of Wren's cell," Meratur told her.

The High-Elf put his hands through the bars, a stream of frost erupted from his palms, hitting Wren's unconscious form. She lurched before letting out a short cry.

"Now it's awake," the man said.

Rontag watched as Wren pushed herself up, glaring at the three that stood outside the cells in the hallway. "You've gone too far this time Vigilants!"

"No, it is you who thought you were immune to Stendarr's mercy!" the man yelled back at her.

"You're clueless," Wren said derisively. "If Stendarr wanted to off me, then he's had plenty of chances to."

"Don't flatter yourself!" the man snapped. "You're only still alive because you are a curiosity, and because I believe it is Stendarr's wish for Meratur, and the others to know what you are."

"What does he mean?" Rontag questioned.

"She's a vampire, didn't you know?" the man questioned. "Of course you didn't. No one did, except for us. Nothing escapes us, especially the undead."

Rontag looked across at Valerie and Durza. His wife's eyebrows were raised in surprise, while Durza's emotions were unreadable.

"Don't worry Wren," Meratur began. "I've already explained to them that you cannot be a vampire."

The Nord man shook his head. "No, it was us that failed to convince you. Now we will, and you will want to be the one that removes this abomination from the world."

"Go ahead!" Wren spat. "Try and convince anyone that I'm a vampire!"

"We will," he responded confidently. "We will reveal what you are."

"You know nothing!" she yelled at him. "How can you possibly reveal anything? You know nothing about me!"

The Nord turned to the High-Elf mage. "Cast sun-fire at her."

With only a nod, the mage cast the spell at Wren. A bright orb erupted from his palm, striking Wren, who turned her head and shielded her face.

"Did that cause you pain?" the Nord asked.

"No you idiot!" she shouted back at him. "I just had a bright light blasted at my face."

"She has a point," Meratur added.

"Does she now?" the vigilant replied. "Then we will have to try something else."

"Go ahead," Wren said, seemingly unperturbed by what was happening.

The male vigilant turned back to the mage. "Repel undead. The most powerful version you know."

The mage nodded, before once again, he placed his hands through the bars of the cell. Magic swirled in his palms, before he let it go, striking Wren in the chest. She lurched back, falling onto the dirt.

"Is that it?" she questioned, as she pushed herself back up.

The mage looked at the male. "Unusual, if she is a vampire that is," he observed.

"He's right, Amund," the female vigilant said.

He looked over at her, then back at Wren. He didn't look pleased. "Fine, let's prove this once and for all." He looked back at the woman. "Bring me a bowl."

She moved off without questions, while the one called Amund drew his knife.

"What're you going to do to her?" Meratur questioned.

"To her?" Amund asked, looking around. "I will show you all what she truly is." The woman returned with the bowl. "Hold it," he told her, before drawing the knife across his palm.

He winced as blood began to drip into the bowl. He looked over at Wren, whose expression remained stoic. "You can keep up the façade for now. But when this bowl of blood is set down in front of you, you'll drop your act, and your true ravenous feral self, will be revealed." He stared at her, as his palm continued to drip blood. "Tasty, isn't it?" he asked.

Wren snorted. "I think it's time you stopped this idiocy, and let us all go."

"Not until they see what you are." He flexed his hand, before looking into the bowl. "A bit more and you'll be like a rabid dog."

"Of course I will," she retorted sarcastically.

"Okay, I think this will be enough." He moved his hand over to the High-Elf mage, who healed it. Amund then unlocked the cell door, before taking the bowl from the woman, placing it down on the stone hard floor. He then rose back up, moving it towards Wren with his foot, before slamming the door shut, locking it both with the key, and a spell cast from the High-Elf.

Wren looked down at the bowl, then back up at Amund.

"Admit it!" he said, "You can't resist."

"This is a joke," Wren said completely un-fazed. "I don't drink blood," she told him. "Especially not yours."

The man's face creased with fury. "I don't know how you're doing this, but I will prove it!"

The elderly mage shrugged. "Perhaps she isn't a vampire," he suggested.

"No, she most definitely is one." Amund said, refusing to see the evidence before him. "We will be back, and we will get the evidence we need!" He gestured before they all moved off down the hallway.

"Interesting," Jo'Agro said, from where he sat. "These vigilants are convinced."

"They're idiots!" Wren spat.

Rontag looked at Meratur, then across at his wife. They were in here because they believed Wren was a vampire. He didn't really know what to believe. He hadn't known her for even a day.

He had to admit though, there was a kind of dangerous beauty to the way she looked. She was attractive, yet looked quite alien at the same time.

"Do you think that Amund guy will ever be convinced?" Valerie questioned.

Wren, who couldn't see her through the thick stone walls that separated their cells replied. "It's only the others that need to be. He's stubborn, wants the vigilants to expand their influence, to be more than what they are. He's vying for the role of Keeper, and he's out here trying to prove himself."

"Why does he think you're a vampire?" Meratur questioned.

"I have met him once before. First impressions and all of that."

"I don't understand?" Rontag said, shifting uncomfortably as a feeling began to brew inside of him. Now was a bad time to need to relieve oneself of their bodily waste. He decided to ignore it.

"Nothing to understand," Wren said. "Somehow he got the impression that I was a vampire, tricking those around me. He was being discharged from the legion at the time. As I recall, it was connected to an event that involved vampires. I don't think he's ever recovered from it."

"Then he has an obsession?"

"I believe he joined the vigilants because of what happened to him," Wren explained.

"This all seems so strange," Rontag said, trying to keep his mind off what he bowels were telling him.

"We'll just have to wait," Durza said.

"For what?" Jo'Agro asked.

"For them to give up," Wren said. "Though I fear that he won't be happy till I'm dead, regardless of whether he can prove anything or not."

Durza chuckled to herself. "Maybe we should encourage them to kill you. It'd speed up our release."

"Not funny," Meratur said to her. "We'll just have to wait this out."

"How long till you think they'll give in?" Valerie asked.

"The others will relent long before this Amund does," Meratur said. "We should concentrate on the mage and the Nord girl for now. If we can convince them, then perhaps they will overrule Amund and allow us our freedom."

Sitting on a cold stone floor wasn't doing Rontag any good. He needed to shit, and he wasn't sure he could hold on.

Meratur looked at him. "You okay?"

"I need to, y'know," he told him.

"What?"

"I need to shit."

"Can't you hold it?" Meratur asked.

The Nord looked over at the bucket in the corner.

"Don't even think about it!" Meratur warned.

But it was too late. The Nord was already in the corner, letting his pants drop.

"Why did I have to be locked in a cell with you!?" Meratur complained in utter disgust.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter VII**

The sun had still yet to rise when Cassi and Malthar made it back to the Breton city of Jehanna. They both pulled on the reigns of their horses, slowing them before finally bringing them to a stop just outside the gate to the stables.

Upon seeing someone slouched in a chair asleep by the stable-house, Cassi brought her fingers to her lips, whistling loudly. The man jerked awake with a shout. He looked over at them as he stood up, slowly making his way over as they brought their horses through the large gate.

With the horses secured at the stables by the weary stable-boy, Cassi led Malthar straight to the first guard they came across, who was also stood strangely alone at the main gate. The light-armour clad Breton man turned to them with a frown.

"Something wrong?" he asked them, placing his hands on his hips.

"We went lookin' fer that bounty," she told him.

"Which one?"

"The tax evader."

"Tax evader?" he questioned with a quizzical look.

"Was goin' to be thrown in the dungeon, but escaped," she said, wondering if he even knew about it. "Caused property damage, an' ran off to a cave. No-one could be bothered with it because the payout to get 'im was only like twenty gold or something."

"Oh, him," the guard said with a nod. "Did ya find him then?"

"Yeah, he's dead."

"Dead!?" the guard said in shock. "Thought the bounty said to bring him back alive?" He folded his arms. "No need to have killed him. That's the kinda thing an Orc woulda done!"

"I dint kill him, a troll did."

"A troll?" he asked pulling a face.

"Yeah, a troll. I was forced to kill it."

"Kill it?"

Cassi rolled her eyes. She wasn't sure if he was stupid, or just trying to irritate her. "Yeah, I killed the troll."

"Thought you were fetchin' the tax evader. Was there a bounty on a troll too?"

"No," she said through gritted teeth. "The troll was in the same cave the guy was hidin' in, and it killed 'im."

"Oh, I got ya. Did ya bring the fella's body back?"

"No. Was pretty badly smashed."

"What was?" the guard asked.

"They guy's body," she told him, trying to keep her cool. "The troll killed 'im."

"Oh, well that's a shame."

Cassi looked over at Malthar who simply shrugged. "We'll let ya get on with whatever yer doing," she told him, moving off through the gates that led into the city, leaving the moronic guard behind.

Much to her annoyance, as she turned a corner in the street and glanced back, she saw a second guard had joined the gate guard and they both seemed to be having a good laugh. Her guess it was at her expense.

For a moment, she considered going back and running him through, but with a gentle nudge from Malthar, she decided to leave it be.

They both continued on, Malthar letting out a large yawn as the walked up a slight incline. As they rounded another corner, the inn they were staying at came into view. Malthar broke out into a jog, leaving her behind.

Cassi smiled inwardly as he ran inside. She had to admit, the draw of sleep was a pleasant thought after all the excitement. Though with him gone, perhaps it wasn't too late to return to the main gate and give the guard what for.

Pushing the thought out of her mind, she stepped inside, seeing Malthar was nowhere to be seen.

"Mornin'," a man said from behind the bar.

"I'm headin' upstairs," she told him.

"Very good."

The moment she was back in her room, Cassi was out of her armour and climbing into the warm inviting bed.

But sleep didn't claim her so easily. She had almost died at the hands of a troll, and had been made to look a fool by bored guardsmen. What made it worse was that there was absolutely nothing to show for it. oddly enough though, she found fighting trolls preferable to just sitting at that table downstairs all day, waiting for phantoms to turn up.

Perhaps she was crazy. She knew her now deceased mother had always called her reckless. What she said was true of course, but that's how she liked it. Still, it would have been preferable if she'd actually managed to achieve something.

Cassi shifted in bed from her right side to her left, her mind refusing to shut off. It was obvious by his reaction back in the cave that Malthar had thought she was in control. She hadn't been, not really. She had been going solely on instinct, allowing it to guide her sword and her spells.

Perhaps later when she awoke, if she actually managed to find sleep, she would try and teach Malthar a few spells. While tomes were generally preferred back in Cyrodiil for learning magic, she found that they filled ones head with too much knowledge on the minutia of a spell. While knowledge was important, _feeling _the spell was more so, something that books and tomes could never teach.

Cassi shifted in bed from her left side to her right, before shifting back a moments later. After a few minutes of tossing and turning, she gave up trying to sleep. The birds were chirping loudly outside, and someone in another room had decided that now was the perfect time to arise. It seemed they revelled in making as much noise as possible. In fact she was certain if they thumped about much harder, then they would start splintering the floorboards.

Finally with much effort, she pulled herself out of bed. At least they didn't have to do anything strenuous while they were here, so it didn't really matter if she was tired from lack of sleep.

Then again, Malthar had a lot of coin with him. Enough for them to eat for several months, and enough for anyone who knew about it to try and rob them blind; well half blind in her case, as she'd already lost sight in her left eye. They didn't have to worry about rent as their rooms had been pre-paid for on arrival as a courtesy. She still remembered the look on the innkeeper's face when the bag of gold had been put on the table. It had certainly been a happy day for him.

She dressed in her rough spun tunic and made her way downstairs. The guy that had been there earlier was still behind the bar, though there were now a few patrons sat at tables. He looked up from cleaning the bar with a cloth.

"Didn't you and your friend only just go upstairs?" he asked.

"Couldn't sleep."

"Want anything to eat or drink?"

"Not at the moment."

"Just shout if you change your mind."

"I will."

She sat there in silence, listening to two patrons talk about what they were going to be doing that day. Cassi rested her head on her arms, which were folded on the tabletop and closed her eyes.

There was a sort of serenity to the early morning inn environment. It felt peaceful, a feeling she enjoyed.

Before she knew it, she had drifted off to sleep.

* * *

"Hello!?" Rontag shouted again. "This is urgent!"

Two vigils came running down the hall, halting in front of their cell. "What!?" one demanded, before holding their hand up to their nose in disgust.

"I used the bucket and it really stinks."

The vigilant turned to the other. "Go tell Amund that one of their buckets needs emptying."

The vigil moved off, returning shortly afterwards with Amund.

"Do you know what time it is?" he questioned. "Some of us had only just gotten to sleep."

"No," Durza said. "We are locked up in cages that have no windows."

"Well the sun hasn't come up yet, and your shouting and carrying-on has woken up half the fort."

"Good!" Wren said.

Amund glared at her. "Watch yourself, vampire, or I'll have your head removed."

"Hurry up with that," Durza said. "I want to leave."

"Shut up, Orc!" he shouted, turning his attention to Durza. "You're just as bad! Your kind are all filthy Daedra worshippers!"

"Watch your tongue!" Durza warned.

Amund ignored her. "You can sit smelling that filth till the sun's up," he told them, gesturing for the others to leave.

"You're not going to empty it?" Rontag asked.

"No." With that, they left.

Meratur glared at his cell mate.

"What?" Rontag asked. "You're going to need to go at some-point."

"Yes, but mine don't smell like a giant's loincloth."

"Pfft," Rontag said dismissively. "Everyone thinks their shit don't stink."

"There's stink, then there's toxic." Meratur looked to the Khajiit. "I feel sorry for our friend here."

"Do not worry, Jo'Agro has cast a spell that weakens ones sense of smell for a time."

"Lucky you," Meratur said. "Wish I could."

Rontag shrugged. "Well I'm off to get some shut-eye. Enjoy the smell."

"You are such an ignoramus!" Meratur barked.

"What?"

"Forget it," Meratur said, looking across at Durza and Valerie in the cell opposite.

"I'm glad we're over here," Valerie said with an amused expression.

"Not far enough," Durza added. "For once, I regret having a strong sense of smell."

"We'll just have to deal with it till they decide to come empty it," Valerie told her.

"Which might be hours," Meratur pointed out.

"It's tough," Wren told them. "You will simply have to deal with it. Complaining won't change anything."

"It'll make me feel better," Meratur said.

"Fine then, go ahead," Wren said. "Just understand that it is something we will all have to do sooner or later, depending on how much longer we are here of course. We have been here for five to seven hours already by my estimate."

"You sure?" Valerie asked, through the wall that divided their cells.

"Yes. It was pitch black outside when we were captured, and from what our captor said, it is early morning. So five hours at the least, seven at the most."

"Trying to sleep," Rontag uttered, laying on the stone floor, his eyes closed.

"You Imperial types," Valerie mused. "Before I joined the legion, I'd almost never heard people use hours. Normally just used early, mid and late morning, afternoon, evening or night."

"It doesn't matter," Wren said dismissively. "All that does is that we have been here for quite a short time thus far."

"Feels longer," Valerie observed.

"Yes, it does."

Meratur gestured to himself. "I've been here a lot longer," he pointed out.

"And you haven't taken a shit in all that time?" Rontag asked, opening one eye.

"well, yes," Meratur told him. "But I was polite about it."

"Enough about shit!" Durza bellowed. "We should get some sleep so that we are well rested. We need to find a way to escape this prison we're in."

Wren agreed. "She is correct."

"Of course I am!" the Orc growled. "Now enough talk!" She laid down on the hard stone floor, resting her head on her right arm.

Meratur took one last look at Rontag, before he himself laid down. The floor was cold, hard and not very pleasant to lay on. Still he was feeling quite fatigued and had no other choice. The cells didn't have any beds or anything else to sleep on.

He closed his eyes and awaited sleep to claim him, but it was for nothing. The floor was too cold and hard, and the smell Rontag had made was far too obnoxious. Finally, he pushed himself into the corner, where he sat leant against the wall. He listened to the wind as it howled softly through the stone hallways, hearing what sounded like snoring from somewhere not too far away.

With not much else to do, he closed his eyes and snoozed.

* * *

Tam strolled downstairs into the main part of the inn. Neither Rasha nor Faldan were up yet, which was fine by her. She and Rasha were sharing a room, which had two beds in it. Luckily, Rasha was a silent sleeper.

She remembered back in the days of being in the Blades. There were quite a few that sounded like they were trying to choke themselves in their sleep.

On occasion, she's wanted to strangle them. Now she would do anything to hear their snores again. It was strange how she now longed for something that at one point, she had found infuriating.

After ordering some breakfast, she headed out the door towards the docks. It was still dark, but the aura that surrounded the sun was highlighting the horizon, as if preparing the sky for its brilliance.

It wasn't long till she was setting foot in the dock warehouse, seeing the usual three grey-skinned Dunmer sat drinking their tea. Erebon, the dock manager was nice enough. It was the other two that were, in her opinion, evil.

"Mornin' Tamarra," Erebon said, saying Tam's fake name, which she had given them "The others here have been sayin' yer lazy and don't carry yer weight. Is that true?"

Tam looked at Madris, then at Vallen. They were lying bastards, but they'd been working here for at least seventy years, longer than even Erebon. Their word was practically binding. If the rumours she had heard were anything to go by, then people they hadn't liked had not only been sacked, but if they disliked them enough, there was tell that they'd gotten a few people hanged; and for crimes they hadn't even committed.

Still, she wasn't the kind of person that was easily intimidated. She'd been on the run for the last few years. These two weren't a threat to her life or well-being, not when compared to the Thalmor.

"No, these two are just making things up," she said, not caring what the reaction would be.

"Callin' me a liar!?" Madris shouted.

"Oh, calm yourself," Tam said. She really didn't want to have to put up with their childish nonsense, not this early in the day.

"Don't speak down to 'im!" Vallen said. "Ya ain't nothin' when compared to 'im or me!"

"That's right, ya ain't."

"No, I cannot possibly compare to the likes of you two," she said sarcastically.

"Don't forget it!" Madris warned, not picking up on her tone of voice.

"I'll make sure I don't, now is there anything that needs moving?"

"'Course there is!" Madris yelled. "Ya ain't getting' out of any more work, not today!"

"Of course not. Now where are these things that need to be moved? I'll go do it now."

"Look at ya, tryin' to get out of work again."

Tam folded her arms. "How exactly am I doing that?"

"Pretendin' to go do work," Vallen accused. "As soon as our back's are turned, ya go an' laze off."

"Of course. Now if you don't mind, can you simply point to what needs moving, and where it needs moving too and I'll do it."

"Still tryin' ta get outta workin'," Madris turned to Erebon. "I say ya give her the sack!"

Erebon rose up from where he was sat. "We'll see how she does today," he said. "The boxes n' barrels marked East Empire Company, need moving onto the EEC ship that came into port last night."

"Understood," she said.

"I would have someone help ya, but everyone's too busy it seems."

"Quite," she agreed.

Erebon looked at her with apologetic eyes, before moving off. He was a good man, but even he had little power when it came to Madris and Vallen. Tam wondered what his ultimate fate here would be. She just hoped he never was the unfortunate recipient of the two's vitriol. If he was smart, he'd quit.

It didn't take long for her to find the first crate. It was obviously a two-man lift that she would have to carry on her own, as usual.

It was funny in a sad pathetic kind of way. She was accused of being lazy when she did most of the work. There was one other that tried. A young Breton called Benoit. He usually ended up scrubbing the outhouse that lay behind the warehouse, as no-one else wanted to do it. He got little recognition for it though. That was reserved for when he made a mistake, and he was verbally scolded.

With a heave, she lifted the crate off the floor and began to carry it towards the large door that led out onto the dock, her arms like clamps on the sides.

If she was lucky she wouldn't see either of the two again today, but luck wasn't something she was particularly familiar with. Or at least luck that was in her favour.

As she climbed the ramp of the Imperial style ship, she saw some of the sailors checking the rigging. One of them looked down. "Thought the crates would be bigger," he observed.

Tam didn't tell him that his perspective was off. She was after-all nigh on eight feet tall, so the crate she was holding would look smaller in comparison.

After placing the crate down on the deck, she turned and headed back down the ramp, continuing on towards the warehouse.

* * *

The sounds of birds chirping in the trees roused Magoza from her slumber. Her eyes fluttered open, to see a ghostly figure standing over her, looking down at her, her features somewhat reminiscent of Nora.

She shouted out in shock, stirring the others. Magoza looked around at them as they opened their eyes and sat up. She quickly cast her eyes back towards the ghost, only to see it was gone.

"What is it?" Llandri asked her.

"Erm, nothing," Magoza replied, not wanting to look or sound foolish.

"The 'gonian wernt doing something was it?" Brendarr asked, casting an evil eye at Hides.

"No, just a bad dream," she lied.

"Okay, well it's just as well ya woke us," Llandri said looking around at the light of day. "Seems we all overslept."

The four of them, had made camp outside the city, due to them not being able to get a room at the cheapest inn. While they were beyond the city walls, they were still within sight of the city guards, and was near a merchant's caravan, meaning they had far more safety here than they'd had in quite some time.

"Let's head into the city," Llandri continued. "I wanna go to the docks and ask how much they think it'll cost to get us passage to Solstheim."

Magoza looked at Hides. "Are you coming with us?" she asked.

The Argonian looked around at each of them. "I don't know yet."

"Better not!" Brendarr said.

"Shut up," Llandri told her son, as she began to walk towards the city. As with what they had experienced the yesterday, red eyes fixated mostly on Hides. Nobody said anything, but they didn't have to. It was clear that he wasn't welcome.

It wasn't long till they were at the Blacklight docks. As Llandri began to speak to a Dunmer who was sat slouched on a chair, something caught Magoza's eye.

The ghostly figure that she had awoken to stood there, looking over at her with her blank translucent eyes. It turned, moving away. With a single glance at the others, she decided to follow it.

"Where're ya going?" Llandri asked, but the Orc ignored it her. There was something strange about what was happening, and her curiosity demanded she figure out what.

She heard the others begin to follow her as she made her way towards what looked like a warehouse. It was clear that the others couldn't see the ghostly figure as it stopped and pointed.

Magoza quickly rushed over to where the ghost was. As she got close it faded away, like mist on the wind, leaving her with many questions, but with no prospects of any answers.

"Where're ya running too?" Brendarr asked as the three caught up to her.

Magoza looked around. "I thought I saw something," she told them.

"Don't run off like that," Llandri pleaded. "Docks can be dangerous."

"Sorry."

"What if ya'd slipped and fallen in?" the Dunmer widow questioned with concern.

"I would have gone in and rescued her," Hides reassured them.

"So yer useful fer something then after-all," Brendarr scoffed.

"I saved you from a life of servitude," Hides pointed out.

Brendar shook his head with a scowl, looking away towards the large warehouse building. "Wow!" he said suddenly. "Look at the size of her."

Magoza turned to see what he was looking at. Her wonder turned to amazement when she saw Tam standing there at the door to the warehouse with a large crate in her hands.

Their eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity. Brendarr said something else, but Magoza couldn't hear him. All she knew was that Tam was here, and for the first time in what felt like an age, things felt like they'd finally be alright.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter VIII**

This wasn't possible. Tam simply couldn't believe that this was real. For the both of them to not only be in the same province, but in the same city and in the same part at the _same_ time. It was so inconceivable, that it just couldn't be so. Yet it was.

Somehow, Magoza was here in Blacklight. But not only that, she had managed to find her here at the docks, albeit probably by accident. But no it couldn't be, it was the Nine, they were playing games with her life yet again. Or at the very least, that's what it felt like.

The tall Altmer looked at the others that were with her. Two Dunmer and an Argonian. The two Dunmer looked related. The older woman had bright scarlet hair, where as the younger one's hair was more auburn, and his complexion was quite smooth. As for the Argonian, he didn't have any discernible features, at least that were noticeable to her.

Tam's attention fell back on Magoza. The young Orsimer stared back as if she didn't believe what her eyes were telling her. Tam could fully understand, as she was feeling it herself.

After looking the young Orsimer up and down, the one thing stood out to her above all else, was how the armour Magoza was wearing looked a few sizes too small. It appeared to be crushing her, albeit if just a little bit. It couldn't be comfortable to wear, but perhaps she didn't have a choice.

The red-haired Dunmer woman leaned towards Magoza. "Don't stare," the Altmer heard her say, the words barely audible over the distance that lay between them.

Tam realised that she should probably say something to her. The silence was becoming uncomfortable, and those with Magoza evidently had no idea that they knew each other. "You've grown," she shouted over to the Orc.

The auburn haired male Dunmer looked at Magoza in surprise. "You know her?" he said, his voice barely audible to the Altmer.

"Yes," Magoza replied.

Tam began to make her way forward. She was happy to see the Orc was still alive, but this also made things difficult. Valerie and the others were headed to Jehanna, with the expectancy that Magoza was there, but instead she was quite literally the other side of the continent.

"Good to see you," Tam said stopping in front of them. She looked down at the small group, which as with most people, she towered over.

"Is Valerie and father here?" Magoza asked.

"Sorry, but no. They're headed to, if not already at Jehanna by now."

"Jehanna?"

"Yes. Rontag, Valerie's husband," she paused, unsure how she could possibly explain Rontag's vision without sounding crazy. "Well, he had a dream which led him to believe you were there."

"Dream?"

Tam didn't respond immediately. She just stared as a surreal feeling washed over her. The Altmer forced herself to concentrate. She had so much to ask. Questions that she felt needed answers. "When you vanished with the other Orc, we all thought you were dead. What happened?"

Magoza looked at her companions. "I found myself outside of a farm near Almalexia."

"Mournhold?" Tam asked. "You found yourself there?"

"Yeah."

"This is unbelievable, you know that?" Tam questioned. "For you to be here, right now? I don't know what to say."

"I don't either."

Tam stooped down to give her a hug. "It's so good to see you." Tam released her embrace, standing back up to her full height.

"I'm sorry," the red-haired Dunmer began, "but who are you?"

"A friend," she replied. "Met young Magoza here a few months back. She was being pursued by a rather vicious Orc."

"Yes, Burag," Magoza said with a shudder.

The Altmer looked at her friends. "Are you going to introduce me?"

Magoza looked to the three. "Erm yeah." She pointed at the red-haired Dunmer. "This is Llandri." She gestured at the Auburn haired Dunmer. "This is Brendarr." Finally she pointed to the Argonian. "And this is Hides."

Tam looked at them all as a whole. There was a tale here to be told, but that would have to wait. "Listen, I'm staying at the Solstheim View Inn with two others. A Ohmes-Raht-Khajiit called Rasha and a Bosmer named Faldan."

"Wait, they're with you!?" Brendarr blurted out.

"Yes," Tam said, looking at him with a furrowed brow. "I assume you've met them, by your response?"

Llandri looked at her son, then over at Tam. "Well not really. Brendarr made a rude comment about them and I shouted back at him. It was about the two of them."

"What?" Tam asked. "What did you say to them? Was it bad?"

"Brendarr said something about 'em being together, and I replied. They overheard us and the Bosmer ran out, followed by the Khajiit."

"Hold on," Tam said waving her hands in a stop motion. "This sounds familiar. I think Rasha mentioned this yesterday night when I got off from-"

"Hey, stop gabbin'!" Geraldor, yet another lazy dock worker shouted over at her. "Get back to work!"

"Says the one who does bugger-all!" she shouted back.

"Watch yerself!" he warned. "I've bin workin' 'ere fer years. My voice holds greater sway than yers does."

"Yeah, sure. Go complain about me, I don't care." Tam turned her attention back to Magoza and her friends. "Look, I'll meet you at the inn tonight. Where're you staying."

"We're camping outside the city," Llandri told her.

"You are?"

"Yes," Magoza confirmed. "The Inn you're staying at is full, and we can't really afford anywhere else."

"Oh. Well meet me at the Solstheim View Inn tonight anyway." She looked down at the Orc's armour. "Looking a bit tight."

"Yeah," Magoza agreed. "The clothes underneath fit me well enough. They belonged to Llandri."

Tam smiled at the scarlet haired Dunmer. "That's nice of you."

"She was working at our farm and well." she stopped speaking and looked away. "I guess we won't be going to Solstheim no more."

"Why?" Brendarr questioned.

"Well, didn't ya hear? Tam here said that Magoza's father was heading to Jehanna. We have to make sure she gets there don't we?"

"I guess," Brendarr said.

"You don't have to," Magoza told them. "I don't want to be a burden."

"Yer not a burden," Llandri told her. "I was only taking us to Solstheim 'cause I had no idea where else we could go."

"I can take her," Tam suggested. "If you don't want to go all that way."

"No," Llandri said, "honestly we have nowhere to go, and I don't know how well me and me son would do on our own."

"Well I'll be going with you," Tam informed them. "I feel that our meeting wasn't a coincidence."

"You're right," Magoza said rather enthusiastically. "I don't think it was either."

"I should really be getting back to work," Tam said. "Head to the Inn, and if Faldan and Rasha are there, tell them you know me. I'm not sure how much they know about you, Magoza, but maybe dropping your name will help."

"Okay," Magoza said with a short nod.

"We'll let ya get on with ya work" Llandri said. "Come on, let's take a look around the city 'fore we head fer that inn."

* * *

"Someone's coming," Valerie said.

"Finally!" Meratur uttered. "Hopefully they'll deal with your stink," he said to Rontag.

"I do too," Rontag agreed. "Even I'm starting to get fed up with it."

Amund, the Mage and three others arrived outside their cells.

"Open the door, and get that bucket," Amund ordered. "If they try anything, kill them."

With the Altmer mage unlocking the cell, two of the vigils entered, retrieving the bucket before moving off.

After that was all dealt with, Amund who had stared at Wren the whole time, began once again.

"Valandor, cast a detect life spell on the vampire and tell us what you see," Amund said gesturing.

"How does that prove anything to us?" Meratur asked dumbfounded. "We already know you lot believe she's undead, so how does you proving it only to yourselves prove it to us?"

The one called Valandor nodded in agreement. "What he says does make sense."

"Just do it!" Amund barked. "You're not the only ones that need convincing." His last statement revealed a lot. Perhaps more than he had intended.

A blue swirling mass of energy formed in the mage's palm as he raised his left hand. He then looked around at all the cells, before focusing on Wren. He lowered his hand.

"And?" Amund asked.

"Not sure you'll like the answer," The High-Elf revealed.

"What do you mean by that!?" Amund demanded.

"Well, she does show signs of life."

"See!" Meratur bellowed happily. "You can let us all go now!"

Amund folded his arms. He wasn't giving up that easily. "Cast a detect dead spell."

Valandor did as asked. Another swirling mass of blue magicka formed in his palm. "Huh," he commented.

"What is it?" Amund asked.

"The same as before," the High-Elf mage told him, "but not quite as strong"

Meratur let out a derisive sigh. "You sure you didn't just cast the same spell?"

"No," Valandor assured him. "No, this is something else."

"So she's half dead?" Amund asked, turning his gaze to Wren.

"It's listening to you try to convince people that I'm a vampire," Wren uttered. "It's boring me half to death."

Amund raised his hand, balling it into a fist, as if he was ready to strike something. He then lowered it. "Nothing good comes from what you are!" he sputtered.

"And what is that?" she questioned.

Everyone looked at him expectantly. He turned to Valandor, who simply shrugged. "I just don't know what to make of her."

Amund looked to Meratur. "What do _you_ make of her?"

"How am I supposed to answer that?" Meratur replied honestly. "All you've proven is that she's not a vampire."

"How so!?" Amund demanded.

"For starters, the bowl of blood is _still_ in her cell, and it hasn't been touched whatsoever. Secondly, your repel undead did nothing-"

"She reacted to that!" Amund rebuked heatedly.

"Also," Meratur continued, despite the interruption, "your sunlight spell also did nothing."

The Vigilant turned, glaring at Wren. "I have no idea what you are, but you're dangerous."

"Soul-trap," Valandor began.

"What!?" Amund questioned not understanding.

"Interesting," Meratur said.

"Khajiit agrees," Jo'Agro, who had been rather silent up till now added. "If Wren suffers from a partial soul entrapment, then both detect life and undead would show the same, yes?"

"Yes," Valandor said.

"I don't buy it," Amund said dismissively. "How can one be half alive, and half dead?"

"Easily," Wren added. "Listening to you lot tout your spiel has that effect on people."

"No no, forget that idea," Valandor said, disagreeing with his own hypothesis. "Partial soul entrapment would be a heavy burden on whoever suffered from it. One with such an ailment would be weaker, perhaps even lethargic. One could simply not live as long as Amund believes you have been alive."

"Oh?" Wren asked intrigued. "And how long have I been alive?"

"I have a list of names," Amund said, pulling out a sheet of parchment from his pocket.

"This should be good," Wren mocked.

Ignoring her, Amund began. "Wren Maralda-"

"Yes, that's my name you idiot," she scoffed.

"Still not compelling evidence," Meratur added.

"I agree," Valerie said also.

"Quiet!" he barked at them, before continuing. "Wren Maralda, made the rank of general in the Imperial Legion. Erin Maralda, high-ranking member of the Cheydinhal chapter of the College of Whispers in Cyrodiil, around seventy years ago. Left suddenly without word."

"Relation," Wren said.

"She was reported to be of mixed heritage, much like you say you are."

"My heritage goes back a long way," she explained. "Still means nothing."

"Okay, let's go right down the list. How about Nelwen Mazulda?" Amund looked at her as if he was expecting a response. When he didn't receive one, he continued. "She was a ship captain out of High-Rock. Got quite a name for herself for taking on pirates several times and coming out with her ship, crew and cargo intact. She was said to have been of mixed race also, and that was what made her so strong."

"Yes, and?"

"That was four-hundred years ago."

"And?" she questioned with annoyance. "So, you've dragged up the names of two people. One of my ancestors, the other with a similar last name, who happened to also of be of mixed race; in _High Rock _of all places, the land of the Manmer."

Meratur shook his head at Amund. "You're obsessed."

"No!" he yelled back, his hands clenched into fists. "A thing like that killed those in my unit!"

"Unit?" Meratur asked. "So you _were _in the legion as Wren said."

"Yes!" Amund shouted. "A foul vampire had tricked its way into our ranks. It fed while we slept, only I discovered it. I failed to convince the others what I found, and I became an outcast among my own peers. That vampire had turned half of us and the rest lest two were slaughtered. I was one of the two that survived!"

The truth had finally been revealed, his obsession with Wren being a vampire was now explained.

"Can you let us out now, please?" Valerie asked politely. "I think it's clear that your past has clouded your judgement."

Durza looked intently at Valerie, before turning her gaze out to Meratur in the opposing cell. "I agree," she said. "Kill Wren if you must, but allow the rest of us to leave."

"You have not proven anything, beyond your own fixation," Meratur said adding his voice.

"They are correct," Valandor agreed. "The Keeper was also correct. This was a fool's errand. There were none of the signs that usually accompany a vampire living with mortals."

"Such as?" Meratur asked.

"The amount of people disappearing without a trace increasing while the suspect is there, then decreasing when they have left. People being lethargic and unable to concentrate, their blood being thinned, and of course strange marks on their necks."

"There were reports that people vanished from Solitude dungeon!" Amund accused.

"Those reports started long before Maralda ever arrived in Solitude. Such occurrences are more likely down to impulsive violent guards than anything daedric, vampiric or undead."

"Don't let her blind you to what she is!" Amund warned.

"Do not let your past destroy your future," Valandor shot back.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he questioned angrily.

"We have no reason to keep them here any longer," the mage said.

Without replying, Amund turned and left, clearly not happy.

Valandor looked to Wren. "I am sorry for what has happened." He glanced around at all of them. "I apologise for our actions. I will go inform everyone that we are letting you go."

He moved off leaving them all alone once again.

"What just happened?" Rontag asked confused.

Valerie smiled. "They're letting us go!"

"They are? Did they gain anything from locking us up?"

"No," Meratur informed him. "There was absolutely nothing gained from any of this."

"There was something gained," Durza said.

"What?" Meratur asked.

"I gained an even greater dislike for Wren."

"Feeling's mutual," Wren called over.

Valandor returned with four Vigils, after removing the magical ward off the cell locks. "We will release you now. I hope there won't be any violence."

"Not this time," Durza warned.

"Open the cells," Valandor ordered.

They did so, starting with the men's cell, before moving on to the woman's cell. Finally, they opened Wren's cell.

Meratur moved over to her and gave her a hug, which elicited an angry growl from Durza. He then moved over to her, giving her a hug also. The Orc tensed up, holding her breath till he released her. He then gave Valerie a short hug, before turning to Rontag, placing his hands on his shoulders. "We're free." He then glanced at the Khajiit. "We are free," he repeated.

Valandor interrupted. "Those of you that had armour is having it brought down. Once you have it on you may go. As for your weapons, they will be returned once you are outside." He looked to Wren, moving in close, keeping his voice low. "As for you showing an aura for both detect-life and dead. I do not know what to make of it. Be sure though, that the Vigilants of Stendarr will be keeping an eye out, so watch yourself."

"Same to you," Wren replied.

He moved off. Moments later just as he said, four pieces of armour were brought down. Valerie, Rontag, Durza and Wren each put their armour on. They were then escorted upstairs. Once they were outside, they had their weapons returned, before they moved off, leaving the old fort behind them.

"We should try and get back to Solitude as quickly as we can," Wren told them. "We won't make it before sundown, but we might make it before midnight."

"Unless you get us all captured again," Durza derided.

Meratur looked over at Valerie and Rontag. "So, what brings the two of you out here anyway? Did news of my disappearance travel to Winterhold that quickly?"

Valerie gave her husband a quick glance. "Well, we were already on our way here."

"Why's that?"

Durza grunted. "Because they think that Magoza's alive."

Meratur halted in his tracks. "What could possibly make you think that?" he questioned in shock.

Valerie cleared her throat, the others stopping turning around to face the Altmer. "Well, Rontag had a dream."

"Don't take this the wrong way," Meratur began, "but you shouldn't put too much faith in dreams. Often, that's all they are."

"Some of it has already come true," Rontag explained. "The old man in my dream told me some things, told me that a Khajiit would turn up."

Meratur looked at Jo'Agro. "And this is that Khajiit?"

Rontag shook his head. "No, a different one."

"And where is this Khajiit now?"

"With Tam," Valerie told him. "That's why she's not here, because they went off to Morrowind."

"What does this have to do with Magoza?" Meratur asked, starting to become frustrated.

"The man in my dream told me that she was alive, and that we had to go to Jehanna."

"Sorry, but I don't believe you." Meratur said truthfully. "Let's be honest, I barely know you." He looked at Valerie. "Either of you. You cannot expect me to believe that my daughter is still alive based on someone's dream!?"

"Okay, you don't have to believe us," Valerie accepted. "But we'll be going to Jehanna, and I'd like you to come with us."

"I'm not sure if I can."

"Listen, even if there's a slim chance that she's alive, shouldn't you pursue it?" Valerie questioned.

He looked at Wren, who nodded. "It's where you've lived for the last twenty years," she pointed out. "Maybe it's time you went home."

"What will you do?" he asked his old friend.

"Who says I'm not coming with you?" she asked with a smile. "After recent events, I feel like getting out of Solitude."

"Maybe it is time I did return home," he lamented.

"You have my blade at your side," Durza offered.

They all looked at Jo'Agro who hadn't said anything for sometime. The Khajiit simply shook his head. "Adventure has proven to be too much for Jo'Agro. This one will not be going."

"Too bad, Wren doesn't also have that opinion," Durza said bitterly.

"Listen tooth," Wren said pointing with a stiff finger. "The only reason I ever even let you stay in my house was because Meratur has a thing for you." She looked over at Meratur. "And you! Damn you for that weird fetish you have for Orc women!"

The Altmer didn't respond. He just turned his head, looking forward up the shallow side of the mountain. "Let's get back to Solitude."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter IX**

Tam stared at Magoza, who sat opposite her in the main room of the inn. She still couldn't quite believe that she was alive, and that they had both run into each other. Especially how they did, at the docks as she had left the warehouse.

It was now late evening and the inn was starting to thin out, either because they had to get up in the morning for work, or because they'd spent what little coin they could spare.

The three Magoza was with, were sat at another table with Rasha and Faldan, giving Tam and the young orc a chance to catch up.

"Tell me exactly what happened?" the Altmer asked. "How did you make yourself teleport to Morrowind?"

"It wasn't me," she said earnestly. "Or at least I don't think it was. I didn't cast a spell or anything that would do something like that. It just kinda happened."

"Do you think you were placed there?" Tam winced. What she'd said sounded stupider than she had anticipated.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure," she said, knowing it was too late to take back the asinine question. "Just that there's legends about people being in the right place at the right time. As if they were put there or something."

"You don't seem like the person that'd put faith into that kind of thing," Magoza observed.

"Listen, I've seen a city built atop a flying island, floating above a sea of the undead." she said, folding her arms. "You being moved from one place to another by something doesn't seem that far fetched."

"A floating island?" Magoza questioned with a frown.

"Umbriel," Tam told her. "We had to evacuate Cheydinhal where I was living at the time. Was a pretty harrowing experience."

Magoza took a sidelong look at her. "Did you really see a floating island?" the Orc asked, clearly sceptical.

The Altmer looked passed her, towards the bar. "I only saw glimpses of it."

"Was it small then?"

"Oh, no," Tam said shaking her head, focusing back on Magoza. "The thing was massive."

"Then how come you only glimpsed it? Was it in the clouds?"

"Maybe. I was too busy running the other way, with the rest of Cheydinhal's residents to really get a good look at it."

"Yeah, I suppose you would've been," Magoza agreed. "I know I would."

"So anyway, we were talking about you, and how you ended up in Morrowind?" Tam said, bringing the discussion back on course. "Earlier back at the dock you mentioned Mournhold?"

"Almalexia," Magoza corrected. "I found myself near a farm. The Karo's let me stay."

"And that was the two over there?" Tam said, gesturing over at Llandri and Brendarr.

"There were three of them."

"Three Dunmer?"

"Yes. Darovin, Llandri's husband and Brendarr's father." She paused briefly. "He was killed by Argonians."

Tam looked over at the two Dunmer. "That's why she has such a sour face then," she observed.

"I couldn't save him, Tam. I can't save anybody."

The Altmer looked Magoza in the eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

"What happened at the stronghold, what happened in Whiterun, at Winterhold. Everywhere I go, people end up dead."

"I don't think you can really blame any of it on yourself," Tam told her sincerely. "Firstly, what happened at the stronghold was because your chieftain went crazy, the same with Whiterun where he killed a load of guards and the priest. What happened in Winterhold was also him."

"But it was because of _me_!"

"You're not cursed Maggie, just been a bit unlucky," Tam told her. "I mean if we're going on how many people have died near or indirectly because of you, then I must be cursed to Oblivion and back. The Thalmor have pursued me for a long time, and they aren't skittish about murdering anybody that gets in their way. Just look at Minestead, the Thalmor wiped it out completely." She looked over at Faldan. "Almost wiped it out."

Magoza turned in her chair, and looked back at him. "Did the Bosmer work the mines with you back in Cyrodiil?"

"Yes," Tam told her. "Was the one that sold me out to the Thalmor."

The Orsimer's mouth fell agape, as her eyes snapped back to Tam. "He told the Thalmor where you were?"

"Yeah, was pretty furious when I found out."

"I don't understand. Why is he with you if he sold you out?"

"Because the Thalmor turned on him," Tam explained. "Listen, forget about all that. What's important is that you're alive. We need to find Meratur, he took your death pretty hard. Last I heard he was in Solitude."

"Back at the docks you mentioned Jehanna?"

"Yes, Valerie's husband had some kind of dream, or vision. A man in it told him you were alive. Somehow he got the impression that you were in Jehanna. If they convinced Meratur, then they're either heading there now, or have already arrived."

Magoza glanced over at the two Dunmer, then looked at the Argonian. "Jehanna is a long way from here," she pointed out, turning back to face the Altmer. "I'm not sure I can justify dragging them all the way there. But I feel like I can't just leave them."

"Didn't the Dunmer girl-"

"Llandri."

"Yeah, didn't she say she wouldn't mind getting away from here?"

"Yes, but I'm not sure she knows what she wants. She lost her husband, and it still hurts her."

"What about you?" Tam questioned. "What about what happened at the stronghold?"

"I don't think about it."

"By choice or circumstance?" the Altmer asked.

"I don't understand?"

"I mean is it that you're putting it out of your mind, or just that so much has been going on, that you just haven't had time to dwell on it?"

"A bit of both I guess."

"I've got some idea of what it's like to lose everything you've ever known. When I fled Valenwood and the dominion; after being unable to complete a purge, I found myself in a foreign land."

"Cyrodiil?" Magoza asked.

"Yeah. It was a difficult transition, mainly because I'd been taught my whole life that the races of men were inferior, and Cyrodiil was full of them."

"Weren't there any in the dominion?"

"Some. In fact when I was very small, I had a friend that was human. One day though my parents told me I wasn't allowed to play with him any more. Not long afterwards, both he and his parents disappeared. Never found out what happened to them, whether they left because of the rising hostility towards non-mer, or because they were murdered."

"Doesn't sound like a very nice place to live," Magoza observed.

"It is when you don't know any better." Tam rose up from her chair. "Let's talk with your friends."

Magoza followed her to the two tables, where their friends and acquaintances were sat. They pulled up some free chairs, and seated themselves at the table where Llandri and Brendarr were sitting, the other three sitting one table over.

"We've had a good talk," Tam told all of them. "It's my opinion that we should head to Solitude in Skyrim, to see if her father Meratur is there. If not, we should then proceed to Jehanna in High Rock." She looked at Llandri and Brendarr, then across at Hides. "Magoza doesn't want to be a burden on you three, nor does she want to leave you. She'll only go if you agree to come along."

Llandri looked at the others. "This is to reunite her with her father?" she asked.

"Yes," Tam confirmed.

"Can I ask a question?" Brendarr said, raising his hand. Tam gestured for him to continue. "What kinda name is Meratur for an Orc?"

"My father's an Altmer," Magoza revealed.

"Yer a half-breed?" Brendarr questioned disbelieving.

"Brendarr," Llandri began, "that's not a very nice term to use."

"Erm, sorry," he apologised, slouching slightly in his chair.

Llandri looked back at Tam and Magoza. "If it helps reunite father and daughter, then I have to help."

"I go where mother goes," Brendarr added.

Magoza looked over at Hides. The Argonian stared back. "I have no where else I am welcome," he told her. "So I might as well go with you."

"Sure, why not," Rasha added. "A group this size is sure to draw attention, but hey, bring it on I say."

Tam looked at Magoza. "Looks like we're going to be reuniting you with your father."

* * *

Achilles stood at the window, staring out at his almost finished ship. The only thing that was missing was a crew. Of course if things went to plan, then they would be here soon.

He turned around as he heard the door go, to find Burag stepping inside. The Orc closed the door shut behind him, making his way over to the fabric covered bench. He sat down heavily, placing both hands on his knees.

The old Cyrodilic man, made his way over, sitting beside him. "You have become a real help around here," Achilles told him sincerely.

Burag regarded him for a moment, before turning his gaze over to the far wall. "Anything that gets me outta the house, and away from that _woman_."

The Cyrodilic man nodded in agreement. Arlianna was quite possibly the most insufferable person he'd had the misfortune of being around. He wondered why Malthar had hired her instead of someone more pleasant. He supposed that perhaps it was because she was the only one willing or able to do the job.

"Can I ask you somethin'?" Burag questioned.

Achilles looked at him. "Yes, you may."

"Why you lettin' me stay here?"

"I have my reasons."

"Also, I never asked this, but when I first arrived, you said my name. How'd you know who I was?"

"That's a really tough question," Achilles told him. "I knew who you were because of dreams."

"Dreams?" Burag asked with clear scepticism.

"All my life, I've had dreams. Well not my whole life, but since I was a young adult."

"When was that?"

"Well maybe since the year one-ten at a guess."

The Orc frowned. "You were dreamin' of me in one-ten?"

"Not per-se, but the faces cleared with time."

"Ya can't have been dreamin' of me in one-ten."

"Why not?"

"'Cause I was born abouts one-eighteen, Imperial calender."

"Yes, I can see why that would be strange," he conceded. "But I don't understand them myself, not nearly as much as I'd like."

"Achilles!?" Arlianna screeched as she stepped into the room. "You're not talking to yourself-" She interrupted herself as she laid eyes on Burag. "Oh, you're speaking to _him_."

"Go away!" Achilles barked. "We're talking, and don't need you disturbing us."

"It's that Orc's presence that's disturbing," she replied. "Probably waiting for a chance to kill us and loot the house."

Achilles glared. "Must you always make it your quest to infuriate whomever you're around?"

"The Orc is dangerous!" she said harshly, locking her eyes with Burag.

"Don't you have something better to do!?" Achilles questioned. "You're interrupting us!"

"A good job I did. Who knows what he would have done if I hadn't come when I did."

"Oh for the love of the Gods, why don't you just mind your own business!?" he told her angrily. He was starting to truly resent her. She was like an overbearing parent who had no flexibility whatsoever, always sticking her nose in, always telling him what to do, when to come inside, when he should go to bed.

When Malthar returned, he was going to give him a serious talking to for hiring this witch.

"If you really must do something," Achilles began, "go into the city. We need some groceries."

She scowled. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Well, you could stay at your house for the night," Achilles suggested. "Then in the morning, get what we need and come back."

"Send the Orc."

"Use your brain. I can't have a chat with him, if he's gone to Daggerfall now can I?"

Arlianna folded her arms. "If I leave you, who knows what he might do?"

"Look at him!" Achilles said, gesturing at Burag. "He could rip both our arms off and feed them to us. I doubt your presence is stopping him from doing anything."

"Fine!" she screeched. "But if I come back in the morning to find you dead, then don't blame me!"

"Oh, if I die, then I plan on haunting you for the rest of your days," he threatened. "Now, those groceries won't fetch themselves."

Arlianna pointed her finger at him, as though she was about to say something. She then turned on her heels and stormed out.

"Finally," Achilles said with relief. He turned back to face Burag. "Now where were we?"

The Orc looked at him with his deep red eyes, before he looked forward towards the fireplace. "She's right to be afraid of me," he said, his tone deep and depressed.

"How so?" The old man asked, even though he already knew the answer. The Orc before him had killed innocents without mercy, yet his dreams told him that he shouldn't be afraid, that what had happened hadn't really been of the Orc's own doing.

"I come from a stronghold." Burag rose up from where he sat, and walked over to the window peering out of it. "I slaughtered 'em all, and for some foolish reason. The right decision would've been to cast her and Bagol out, to let Meratur take charge of them."

Achilles didn't ask for clarification on who or what he was talking about, as he already knew. Magoza was not his daughter, and he had dealt with the discovery poorly.

"Instead of doing that," Burag continued, "I went mad, killed everyone who I perceived as in my way. I wanted the half-breed dead, and I did not care about anything but that."

"What do you think caused your outburst?"

The Orc turned around to face him. "I dunno," he said.

"Anything different now than before?"

"Whatcha mean?"

"Do you think something caused it?"

"No idea. In some Nord city, a priest said that I'd been corrupted or somethin'."

"But you killed him," Achilles said.

"Yeah, how'd you know about that?"

"I saw it in my dreams."

"What else d'they tell you?"

"That perhaps you should be careful of what you take possession of."

"Whatcha saying?"

"That orichalcum sword you carried. Where is it?"

"I lost it."

"Where did you find it?"

"In an old Ayleid ruin when I was in the Imperial Legion, down in Cyrodiil."

"An orichalcum weapon is an unusual find for an Ayleid ruin don't you think?"

"Yeah, I guess. But I took it off some bandits we found there."

"And you decided to keep it?"

"Yeah. Why d'you think it was cursed?"

"I honestly couldn't say," Achilles revealed.

"Something to do with your dreams?"

"Yes, actually," the old man said. "I'm a bit weary of saying anything about them though, because no-one thus far has actually believed me."

"I can see why," Burag said. "So, you got something to say that'd convince me?"

Achilles held his breath. There was a chance that Burag wouldn't like what he was about to hear. "How far back do you want me to go?" he asked.

"How far back does it go?"

"Well, I know you were born in a stronghold. I just don't know what it was called, only that it was in the mountains east of here. At some-point you left and joined the legion, but I have no idea why."

"Life in the stronghold didn't appeal to me," Burag told him.

"That changed at some point I assume?"

"Yeah, dunno why though."

"Well, in my dreams, the sword you found became a focus point, at least for a while. That was until you faded from my dreams."

"Did something else replace me?"

"Well I'd always seen other faces. Some of them you met in Winterhold."

"Those that were with Magoza?" Burag asked.

"Yes. Right now a dear friend of mine is in Jehanna waiting for them."

"And what of Magoza?" Burag questioned. "Is she alive?"

"I believe she is," Achilles revealed. "I also believe she is in Morrowind."

"She is strong," he said. "And what of Durza and Moth?"

"They have gone their separate ways. Durza is with Meratur and the general."

"General?"

"Yes, though I do not recall her name. I believe you served with her once with Meratur and Bagol long ago. She is an unusual elf, though my dreams have her shrouded, concealed."

"Maralda," Burag said aloud.

"I believe that is her," Achilles said. "A few months ago, I had dreams of her leading Meratur into danger, but not of her own volition. Recently, I see them free with the two Nords, but a jagged symbol of Stendarr looms over her head, as if it is ready to fall and skewer her. Also, just last night I saw glimpses of what looked like Altmer, dressed in the armour and robes of the Thalmor. I don't yet know what it means"

"I have to say that yer makin' me nervous with all this stuff," Burag revealed. "If you can really see all that, tell me this; why were you so shocked when I turned up at your door?"

"Because you had vanished from my dreams so completely that I thought you were dead. Instead you find your way here inexplicably."

"Think it means something?"

"I've never been sure what any of it means," Achilles confided. "I've always hoped that my dreams were Aethiric in nature, rather than Oblivionic."

"You seem to know a lot 'bout things you ought not to," Burag observed.

"Yes, I suppose I do."

"So tell us this. Where did things go wrong?"

"I don't know," Achilles said with a sigh.

"It musta been the sword," Burag said standing up. "Had to be!"

"What makes you say that?" the old man asked.

"The thing's been with me for thirty years," he explained. "Even when I was sleepin' it was in my reach. This is the first time it hasn't been with me, an' I feel different."

"Different, how?"

"I don't wanna bash the skulls in of everyone 'round me for a start."

"Yes, that's a good thing. Especially for Arlianna."

"Well, she's an exception."

"You want to bash her skull in?"

"She hates Orcs, an' I hate Bretons."

"You dislike Bretons?"

"Don't like Redguards much neither."

"I see," Achilles said, fully understanding the Orc's dislike. "The sack of Orsinium."

"Multiple slaughters of Orsinium," Burag corrected.

"Of course."

"They think we're barbarians, and to prove how barbaric we are, they come to our land and slaughter us."

"Have you ever been to Orsinium?"

"Never. But the stories of how they believe us to be savages, and they try to make us that by not allowing us civilization, to divide us whenever we become too united."

Achilles had never heard it told like that before. Actually he had never really been told the reason as far as he could remember. Only that the Bretons and Redguards had attacked it. In fact it had been sacked and rebuilt many times throughout history. He wasn't sure if it was always in the same place, but it always had the same name, and the same purpose. A place that Orcs could call their home.

"If you don't mind," Achilles began, "I'm off to bed, it is getting late."

"Go ahead," Burag said, sitting back down.

"Make sure the door is locked before you decide to call it a night."

"Yeah, sure."

Achilles made his way to the bedroom, closing the door shut behind him. He hadn't expected the conversation to be so in-depth, nor had he expected to reveal so much about his dreams, but that's the way it had gone.

The old Cyrodilic had to admit, Burag was turning out to be nothing like he'd expected. For one thing he didn't seem as arrogant or antagonistic as he thought he would be. Mostly he had been distant, quiet, but he seemed to be breaking out of his shell a little bit.

He did worry about how the others in his dreams would react when they finally arrived here to find Burag. The last time they had seen him, he had tried to kill them.

Time would tell of course, it always did.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter X**

"Is everyone ready?" Tam asked.

"No," Faldan replied, followed almost instantly by a "Yes," from everyone else.

Dawn had arrived, and the two groups turned one were ready to head off towards Solitude in Skyrim. Last night had been a fair bit different for Magoza, Hides and the Karo's. Instead of making camp just outside the city, Tam had managed to convince the innkeeper to let them stay in their rooms.

Before it had been Tam and Rasha in one, and Faldan in another. Last night it had been all the women in one room and all the men in the other. To say it had been cramped was perhaps a bit of an understatement. In Tam's and Rasha's room, there had only been two beds. Tam had agreed to sleep on the floor, while Magoza and Llandri shared a bed.

Things in Faldan's room hadn't gone so easily. Hides and Faldan had slept on the floor, while Brendarr had used the bed. Judging from the size of his arms; being a farm boy and all, the others had perhaps wisely decided to just let him have it. Tam had only discovered it due to Faldan's incessant complaints when she found him downstairs in the main room with Rasha, both up before everyone else.

Tam got the feeling from the few encounters with Brendarr, that he wasn't really sociable, and could potentially be a bully. Of course she didn't know if he was, that was just the impression she got.

"Okay," Tam said. "First things first. Magoza has agreed to sell her hide armour. That'll get us a bit of extra coin."

Magoza who had her armour folded roughly over her left arm nodded.

"What about your armour?" Brendarr asked her. "Plate armour like that'll fetch some coin."

Tam looked in the young Dunmer's direction. "So would an ebony crossbow," she said gesturing at the weapon he held in its scabbard on his back. "Besides," she continued, getting a foul glare from Brendarr, "considering I'm not a spell-caster, I need to be up close to my target. As a mage, Magoza shouldn't be anywhere near them. Thus I need armour, and she does not."

"Yer an Altmer," Brendarr pointed out.

"Am I?" she said sarcastically. "Well blow me down, 'cause I never knew."

He folded his arms with a frown. "I though ya all knew magic?"

"Do you know magic?" Tam asked him.

"Well, no, but I ain't an Altmer."

"Dunmer are well-known for their powerful sorcerers."

"Yeah, well I ain't one of those. I'm a farmer."

"And I ain't a spell-caster," Tam told him firmly. "I'm a girl who hits things with my warhammer." She held up her bare hands. "Besides I had to sell my gauntlets back in Winterhold and lost my helmet earlier in Whiterun. Can't risk more than that."

"Okay, fair enough I s'pose," the Dunmer conceded. "But couldn't she just buy new armour?"

"Yes, but it would be ill-fitting unless she had it custom-made."

"Better than nowt."

"Not necessarily," Tam told him. "Besides in that case you should get some armour."

"Nah, don't think I'd like the stuff."

"It's not about what you like. Doesn't matter anyway, we don't have the coin to start buying everyone armour."

"Perhaps I should have some armour?" Rasha suggested.

"No," Tam said. "Don't think you should be putting yourself in a position to need it."

"Why?" Rasha questioned. "I'm pretty lethal with this dagger no matter what hand it's in."

"I'd like to see you fight, stumpy," Brendar derided, referring to her missing extremity.

There was a loud slap, followed by an "Ow," as Llandri wacked her son around the back of the head.

"Show some respect," his mother told him. She looked over at Rasha. "Sorry, I can't remember raising him like this."

"Come on, Mother," Brendarr said. "Ya an' father were always going on about how it's the cat's and lizard's fault that Morrowind is in the state it's in now."

"We never said anything of the sort," she refuted. "If ya had actually listened, son, then ye'd know that we were talking 'bout the slave trade. _That's_ what ruined Morrowind."

"An' I thought it was Red Mountain blowing its guts up," Brendarr said.

"Don't get smart!" Llandri told him firmly. "Ya know why the Argonians attacked and ravaged southern Morrowind. I don't need to spell it out for ya, so leave it at that!"

Most everybody knew the reason. Millennia of slavery had driven the Argonians into retribution. The eruption of Red Mountain had simply given them the means to do it.

It felt odd to Tam to think that they had both been part of the Septim Empire, that the Argonians would want to remain part of an entity that was happy to allow another member to abduct its citizens for the purposes of slavery.

It was no wonder the Argonians had separated from the Empire the first chance they got. They got a lousy deal in it. One that should have been unacceptable to any civilized society. Why Tiber Septim had agreed to it, and none of the other Emperors had seemingly done nothing to try and stop it, she had no clue.

Tam rubbed her eyes, focusing back on the here and now. "Let's just get to the smith, so we can sell Magoza's armour," she said. "We need to be getting ourselves off toward Riften, not stood here yapping."

"Who put you in charge?" Brendarr asked.

"She knows what she's doing," Magoza reassured him. "Just give her a chance."

Brendarr looked away.

"If that's all sorted, then we should go," Tam said, as she began to make her way over to the door.

They all stepped outside onto the street, breathing in the smoky sulphur filled air given off by the plume that surrounded Vvardenfell.

They made their way down to the blacksmith's shop, stopping by the forge, where a Dunmer smith was dipping in a long piece of unformed iron.

He looked at them. "If ya want summit then go talk to Albor, he's inside."

Without a word, Tam gestured for Magoza to join her. They both stepped inside the shop, where they were greeted by a rather cheerful Altmer man with typical light yellow skin, and short blonde hair. His attitude was atypical for a High-Elf. His smile and friendly demeanour caught Tam off-guard to some extent. She wasn't above saying her race tended to be blunt, snobby and rude.

"Good morning. What may I do for the both of you today?" he asked joyfully.

"We're looking to sell this armour," Tam said gesturing at the hide attire that Magoza held in her arms.

"Let me have a look at it," he said.

Magoza moved over to him, and passed him it. He unfolded it and took a long look.

"Bit on the small side," he observed. "But the craftsmanship is very good. Exceptional in fact."

"How much?" Tam asked.

"I'll give you sixty-drakes for them."

Tam nodded, "That seems fair."

He counted out the coin and passed it to Tam, who promptly gave it to Magoza. "Here, it's yours."

"Are you sure?" the Orc questioned.

"Of course," Tam told her. "I do expect you to to buy us all dinner when we're next in an Inn though," she half joked.

"I'll do that." Magoza quickly put it into her satchel, before they both stepped back outside.

"Ready to go?" Tam asked them.

"I s'pose," Brendarr said with a shrug.

"Hey!" someone shouted over. They all looked in the direction of whoever had yelled. "Ain't ya meant t'be at the docks working?"

Tam smiled. "Oh yeah, sorry. Tell Erebor that I quit!"

"Ya can't just quit!?"

"Yeah, I think I can," she told him flatly.

"What do I tell 'im?"

"I told you. Tell him I quit." She tilted her head back, looking down her nose at him. "Looks like you lot will have to do some work from now on."

He gesticulated at her before heading off towards the docks, leaving Tam feeling quite satisfied and amused.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" Rasha asked her with a smile.

"Yes I did." She looked up at the sky. "Looks like it's going to be a good day. Well as good as it can be considering Red Mountain's having an off-week"

"Can we just go already?" Brendarr asked.

"Lets," Faldan added.

"Come on then," Tam said with a wave. "We'll hit the road south, then pass into Skyrim via the road to Riften. Windhelm is not a place we want to be going."

"No," Rasha agreed. "Definitely not."

The group of seven moved off, on the start of their long journey west.

* * *

Meratur opened his eyes. He didn't know how long he'd been sleeping, but it must have been at least for a few hours judging from the light streaming in through the thick clouded glass window.

They had all arrived back at Solitude sometime in the early morning and had all almost immediately sought rest. He had found his bed, Durza and Wren had most likely also found theirs. As for the other three, he wasn't sure. If they had found rest, it would either have been on a chair or a bench.

He was about to move, when he noticed that there was an arm draped across his chest. A green arm.

The Altmer looked to his side, to see Durza laying asleep next to him. They were both fully dressed, so it was unlikely anything had happened. But still, he found himself somewhat confused.

Meratur gently moved the arm off of him, before climbing out of bed.

"Mornin'," Durza's deep voice said from behind him. He looked around as she sat up. "I gave my bed to the Nord married couple, so I decided to sleep here instead."

He frowned. "You probably should have asked first."

"I did ask them. They were thankful for the offer."

He shook his head. "No, I meant you should have asked _me_."

"I don't see the problem?" she said simply. "We were only sleeping, and were both fully clothed."

"That's not the point though," he told her, folding his arms. "You cannot climb into someone's bed without telling them."

Durza folded her own arms, mirroring him. "Then I suppose you would rather have the Nord couple sleep on the hard floor, then?" she asked.

"No, but it would have been nice to have been asked."

"And miss this enlightening discussion?"

"Enlightening?" Meratur repeated. "What do you mean by that?"

Durza simply smirked as she walked out of the room. She paused at the door, looking back at him. "I look forward to sharing your bed again in the future." With that she continued on, leaving Meratur feeling dumbfounded, and somewhat aroused.

He shook off the feeling as he himself stepped out of his room, passing Durza's bedroom where Valerie and Rontag had spent the night at the behest of the hard-headed Orc.

The Altmer paused outside of Wren's room, before he gently knocked on the thick wooden door. He waited for a few moments before it opened, Wren peering out at him.

"Can I come in?" he asked politely.

Wren pulled the door fully open. "Sure." Once he had stepped inside, she closed it again. "What can I do for you?"

"We need to talk," he told her folding his arms.

"About what?"

"About you," he said. "About what that mage saw when he cast those detection spells, about why they believed you were a vampire." He reached and took her cold hand. "And why your flesh feels cold."

"Poor circulation," she told him.

"I just want to know the truth," he said looking at her intently. "When I saw you in Castle Dour after what must have been almost thirty years, the first thing that struck me was how little you had changed."

"I take care of my skin."

He glared at her. "It's more than that though, isn't it?"

"What do you want me to say?" she questioned. "That I'm a creature of the night that preys for blood?"

"Are you?"

"Don't be so ridiculous!" she scoffed.

"Then what is it with you?" he questioned. "Back when we first met in the legion, you seemed distant. It took a lot to reach out to you, and when we did you still seemed reserved, almost secretive. Then there was that time when Aldmeri soldiers crossed the border and you pulled some serious magic out of nowhere that saved our hides. When we asked you on it you were so evasive."

"I'm not the kind of person who likes to brag."

"Sorry if I don't believe that," he said bitterly. "Just be honest with me, please."

"About what?"

"Please," he pleaded. "Just tell me the truth."

"Ask me some questions and I will be as honest as I can be."

Meratur rubbed his face, feeling the heavy build up of stubble that had formed over the last few days. Now she had told him she'd be honest, he wasn't sure he really wanted to know the answer.

"Ask away," she said.

"Erm," he began. He looked at her heavy brow and at her ears. He then looked at her deep red eyes. "Are you of mixed race?" he asked her.

She turned and sat on a chair that lay beside her bed. "That's your first question?" she asked with surprise. "I thought you'd go straight in with the obvious one."

"Are you going to answer?"

She looked up at him. "My heritage is not mixed," she told him.

Meratur's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You're not?"

"Ask me something else."

He considered asking her what race she was, but decided a different approach. "Where were you born?"

"Nzeltheim in Volenfell," she said. "Wasn't particularly large, and never got the chance to grow."

"Volenfell?" he questioned. The fact she had used the ancient name for Hammerfell intrigued him. It was rumoured that it was named after Volendruung, a mighty Dwemer hammer which was thrown across Tamriel, and that the region known as Hammerfell was where it had landed.

"What's your name?" he asked her, going on a hunch. "Your real name?"

"My real name now, or my birth name?"

"The name you were born with," Meratur clarified.

"Nthren Mzulda," she told him.

Meratur felt his head begin to spin. This conversation was leading somewhere it couldn't. If what he were thinking were true then something was very wrong here.

"Are you a vampire?" he asked finally.

"To answer that, I need to explain some things."

"Go ahead."

She cleared her throat. "Back where I am from. Well, let us just say that Nzeltheim was a scientific centre made for the study of the phenomenon known as Vampirism."

"Scientific?" he asked. "That's a very rarely used term."

"Yes," she agreed. "But not amongst my people."

"And who were your people?"

"Allow me to continue, and everything will be revealed."

"Okay, go ahead."

"I was simply an assistant at the time. It was thought that perhaps if altered, the vampirism disease could be made into some kind of weapon."

"To infect your enemies with?" Meratur questioned, feeling disgusted at the thought.

"No, nothing so uncontrollable and barbaric," she said dismissively. "The weapon was to try and ascertain how to keep the benefits of vampirism, but to also remove all of its weaknesses."

"So to use it on yourselves?"

"My people were fascinated with ways to make us like the gods, to make us _as _the gods. It was believed that this was one avenue to make us stronger. We were particularly interested in the immortality aspect. To see if it could be applied without resulting in undeath."

"And they chose you to experiment on?"

"No, of course not," she said. "We captured surface dwellers for that."

"Surface dwellers?" he questioned. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "And you turned them into monsters?"

"Don't be so naïve, Meratur," she scorned. "We had an objective, and it would be completed no matter what."

"That's cold."

"It was how things were."

Meratur ran his hand through his hair "So did you finish this 'research'?"

"No," she replied. "There was an incident and I was infected. Instead of curing me, they decided to use me as part of the 'next phase'."

"So you're a vampire?" He felt like an idiot. How could he not have seen what she was?

"Allow me to finish," Wren said.

"Go ahead." He needed reassurance. For her to tell him that she wasn't a monster.

"I was allowed to go through the stages," Wren continued, "before they forcibly halted it at the transform stage, holding me in a form of magical stasis. I quickly found out what the other 'subjects' had endured. I was then thrown in a cage, while they waited to see the results."

"And?".

"And they waited, before taking me out and injected me with something."

"Injected?" Meratur questioned.

"A way of introducing something directly to the blood via a needle."

"What did they put in you?"

"I don't know, but it was painful. Made my entire body feel like it was on fire." She shuddered. "That went on for some time."

"How long did it go on for?"

"I don't know. All I know is that I was no longer one of them."

"Did they discard you? How did it end?"

"I was on the table, being prepared for something. I can't remember what. All I remember is suddenly a searing pain, and something calling out to me."

"What was it?"

"I didn't know at the time, perhaps The Calling; a method of telepathy among my people. Regardless, all I remember from the incident was the pain. My hair, my eyebrows and even my eyelashes turned to ash. My skin and insides seared with pain more intense than anything I have ever experienced before or since."

"And then?"

"And then the rest of my life began."

"I don't understand?" he said with a confused mix of bewilderment, disgust and fear. "What happened?"

"The end happened," she said almost mystically. "I awoke to find my face covered in what remained of my hair. My head was bald and my skin dry. I could barely see as I looked around. I climbed from the stone bed I was on, stepping into a rather large pile of ash with a little hat adorning it. If it wasn't for the fact it was someone's remains, it would have looked almost cute. It was a sight I would become very familiar with over the next few hours, or days, or however long I was there afterwards. My peers were dead."

"What happened to the others?" Meratur questioned, before clarifying. "I mean the others that were experimented on?"

"I let them go."

"And they didn't try to kill you?" He knew he probably would have, if he was tortured.

"No. They knew what had happened to me."

"You say that as if you don't really know whether they did or not?" Meratur observed.

"You're right, I didn't know. The reason was quite simple."

"You didn't ask?"

"I didn't know their languages," she revealed.

Meratur began to pace around the room. He didn't know what to think, how to feel. "You still haven't answered whether or not you are a vampire?"

"I am not," she told him. "If your definition is one that requires blood."

"I don't know what you are," he said turning away.

"Wren Maralda, retired general of the Imperial Legion."

"That means nothing." He walked over to the door. He paused looking back. "You lied."

"I had reason to," she said. "Just look at history. Folks are more willing to destroy that which they don't understand rather than try to understand it."

"But you're undead," he said. "An abomination."

"Thanks," she said bitterly. "I'm half-undead actually."

"I trusted you!"

"Keep your voice down," she hushed.

He glared at her. "Tell me this. How many people know?"

"Just you, and someone in Morrowind."

"Morrowind?"

"Yes. I promised never to reveal him to anyone, so forgive me if I don't say any more."

"And forgive me if I cannot say I can ever trust you again."

Wren rose up from where she sat. "I told you this because I trust you," she told him. "Don't throw it back in my face."

"I need some air," he said moving off towards the door.

* * *

Valerie quickly moved away from the door, and rushed downstairs. She stepped into the kitchen where Rontag was sat, eating some bread.

"Durza's gone for a walk," he told her.

She nodded quickly, not really taking in what he had said to her. Valerie had heard almost the whole conversation between Wren and Meratur, and she simply didn't know what to think.

Meratur stepped into the kitchen and grabbed some bread from the breadbox. He sat down heavily, tearing a bite out of it.

"I have to say," Rontag began. "You have some really comfy beds."

The High-Elf looked at him with a confused expression. "What?"

"Just saying you have comfy beds here."

"Oh, thank you," Meratur said before taking another bite out of his bread.

"You feeling alright?" Rontag asked him.

"Didn't sleep well."

"Well me and Val slept great, didn't we?"

"Er, yeah," Valerie replied.

Meratur pushed himself to his feet. "That's lovely," he said. "I'm off to go for a walk."

"I think Durza went to the market," Rontag told him.

"Yes, perhaps I will go look for her." Meratur all but fled the kitchen.

Rontag looked at Valerie. "Well he seems sour about something."

"Lack of sleep, just like he said."

"You know, I fancy a walk to the market. Care to join me?"

"Nah, you go ahead. I'll stay here."

"Sure?"

"Sure."

Rontag stood up and gave her a kiss on the cheek before he also left.

Valerie stood up slowly and looked towards the stairwell. For some reason she felt compelled to talk with Wren, despite the possibility that if the elf knew what she'd overheard, that she'd kill her.

With a deep intake of breath, Valerie made her way to the stairwell. She knew that she was being either very brave, or very stupid.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter XI**

Solitude market was quite busy and rather noisy that morning, with traders shouting advertisements and prices for their produce and the idle chatter of the masses that were there to shop.

Durza was stood at a particularly large stall, looking over some rather foul clothing. Snobbish rich Nords happily bargained for better deals, with the two rude Altmer that owned it. They clearly weren't going to get better prices, but that didn't dissuade them from trying, lest they get lucky.

The Orc decided not to take part in the foolishness. Mainly because she knew that if the two Altmer spoke to her as they spoke to some of the customers, then they might end up with rather flat noses and a busted jaw. Then she might unfortunately find herself in the dungeon, or wherever it was they kept those they arrested for misdemeanour's.

Deciding that there was nothing there that appealed to her in the slightest, Durza turned away. That's when she caught a glimpse of Meratur through the crowd, stood over by the fish stand.

The Orsimer moved away from the clothes stall, pushing her way through the crowd, getting angry glares and shouts from some of the shoppers, as she nearly pushed them to the ground.

Meratur jerked, spinning around as Durza tapped him firmly on the shoulder. "Oh, by Kynareth it's you," he said, placing his hand against his chest. "Scared me half to death."

"I can see that," she said to him. "You should be more observant of your surroundings."

He turned back to looking at the fish, gesturing at the ones that hung by their tails. "They look sad," he commented.

"They're dead," Durza pointed out. "And even if they weren't, they still wouldn't be sad, happy, or be feeling anything else."

"I suppose not."

Durza folded her large arms. "You're not still upset with me for sharing your bed last night are you?"

He glared at her, putting his finger up against his lips, shushing her. "Keep it down."

"Excuse me?" she asked, unimpressed by his childishness.

"Someone might hear you," he hissed.

"Hear what!?" she said, almost bellowing. "That we shared a bed!?"

"Funny," he said turning away. "I'm not in the mood."

"If I knew that you would be this sour, I would have made the two Nords sleep on the floor."

"It's not about that!" he uttered in frustration.

"Then what is it?"

"Nothing."

"Is that the truth?"

"Yes."

Durza wasn't sure she believed him. She was about to question his foul mood further, when Rontag appeared from out of the crowd.

"Good morning," the Nord greeted cheerfully.

"Yes, it is," Durza acknowledged, before adding, "except for Meratur who is acting like a child."

"Oh?" Rontag said, looking at him.

"I'm not acting like a child!" Meratur snapped. "Just feeling a little under the weather."

"Maybe we can cheer you up?" Rontag offered.

"Thanks, but I'm okay," Meratur said in reassurance.

"If that's what you believe," Durza commented.

"It is," he confirmed. "Now if you don't mind, I think I'll go for a little walk."

"I'll join you," the Orc said.

"Alone," he added.

"After the way you were caught by those cultists, you shouldn't go anywhere alone," Durza said firmly.

"I'm only going to be walking around the city," he reassured her. "Besides, I don't think I've heard anyone call the Vigilants of Stendarr cultists before."

"From my experience that's what they are." While Durza had never met a cultist before, she had heard enough from Bagol to ascertain what one was like. The Vigilants were very much like the cultists that had been described to her.

"Fair enough," Meratur accepted. "I still would rather walk alone though."

"Too bad," she said, dismissing his request. "I'm going with you."

Meratur clenched his jaw, before relenting. "Fine, you can walk with me."

"Mind if I come along too?" Rontag asked.

"Yes, I do," Meratur told him fiercely, before raising his hands in apology. "Nothing personal of course, I just need time to think about some things."

"Say no more," the Nord accepted.

Meratur and Durza moved off, forcing their way through the mass of people, leaving Rontag to shop a the market alone. The two of them headed westward, toward the city entrance.

"Are we leaving?" Durza questioned.

He shook his head. "No, might just go to the inn for a drink."

"As you wish."

"Yeah, as I wish," he said bitterly.

Durza decided not to continue asking what was bothering him. If he didn't want to tell her, then she wouldn't force the issue.

Perhaps a good drink would ease his mood. She would just have to wait and see.

* * *

It had been quite sometime since Valerie had come upstairs. For all that time, she had stood outside Wren's bedroom trying to pluck up the courage to knock. So far that courage had evaded her.

The Nord raised her fist again and went to knock, her hand stopping just short of the door as it had done countless times before.

Suddenly the door swung open, Wren standing on the other-side with a heavy frown.

"Erm, hello," Valerie said sheepishly, with a little wave.

"Why are you milling about out here?" she questioned with annoyance. "Are you after something? Or are you just trying to annoy me?"

Valerie felt like fleeing, but stayed grounded where she was, forcing herself to keep her composure. "Can we talk?"

"As regards to what?"

The Nord knew that if she said what she wanted to, that it couldn't be undone. If she was going to turn and leave, then now was the time. It was probably the best thing to do, but Valerie could see it in Wren's eyes as she stood there. A deep pain she herself knew all too well. Wren knew what it was like to be alone, perhaps more so than Valerie did.

The Nord inhaled deeply, in an attempt to calm her nerves. "I overheard what you and Meratur talked about," she revealed.

Wren's face creased up with rage as she raised her hands, energy crackling in her palms. Valerie closed her eyes tightly, knowing that she had just made a stupid mistake. In a way, she had just committed suicide. One did not reveal to an almost perfect stranger, that they knew a dangerous secret about them. Now she would face the consequences of her stupidity.

But death didn't come, and the sound of the crackling magic ceased. Slowly, Valerie opened her eyes to see Wren standing there, her posture and expression one of defeat.

"Go on," the elf said. "Whatever you are going to say, go ahead."

Valerie wasn't sure if she did. Not moments ago she thought her life was at an end, and now she was confused as to what exactly was happening. She knew that she should have just left it. Stayed downstairs and not tried to sate her curiosity. It was far too late to back out now though.

"Go, on," Wren repeated in a softer tone. "I won't hurt you."

Taking in a long deep breath in a vain effort to calm her nerves, the Nord began. "A-are you a vampire?" she stammered.

"No, next question."

"But what you said to Meratur?"

"Was stupid," Wren said with exasperation. "I should have been more clear." She rubbed her eyes. "It is obvious he didn't grasp what I was trying to say. Then again, maybe he did. Maybe I am an abomination."

Valerie didn't say anything. She feared saying the wrong thing could lead to something quite unpleasant. Instead she just waited to see whether Wren would continue.

The elf looked the Nord right in the eye. "There is the question of course, as to what you intend to do with what you know?"

"What do you mean?" Valerie questioned, fear once again building within her.

"Stood before you is something you don't comprehend. History dictates that you either try to control me, or have me destroyed."

"I don't understand?"

Wren nodded. "Then I will explain." She gestured to the chair that lay by her bed. "Please sit."

Valerie did as instructed, fearful of what might happen if she didn't.

The elf then began. "Throughout the ages, when man, mer or beast has encountered something or someone who is different, they either seek to destroy it, or if they believe that it is beneficial, to control it."

"Why would I do either?" Valerie asked honestly.

"Interesting response," Wren observed with surprise. "Especially from a Nord."

Valerie took in a deep breath, clamping her hands onto her knees. The feeling of fear was starting to subside, but a deep feeling of unease remained.

"Any more questions?" Wren asked.

"Well," she began rubbing her palms across her knees. "You said you weren't a vampire, but from what you told Meratur?" She paused. "I don't understand?"

"I'm a result of an experiment with vampirism. As to whether it was a success or a failure, I don't know."

"What do you mean by that?" Valerie said, feeling confused. "Are you a vampire or not?"

"In truth, I actually don't know," Wren revealed. "If you're asking if I have ever fed on another's blood, then no. If you're asking if I can feed, and if it will somehow make me stronger, then I simply don't know because I never tried."

"Never?" Valerie asked, unsure whether she believed that or not. "How long have you been alive?"

"A very long time," the elf replied. "To be honest I'm not sure of that either. I spent many years wandering aimlessly. From everything I've read, it was sometime prior to the Imperial calender first-era seven-hundred when my people vanished. Of course we used a different calender, one that started when our people separated from the Aldmer. We sought knowledge, knowledge beyond that which they were comfortable pursuing."

"And your people were?" the Nord asked, even though she suspected she already knew the answer.

"You need me to spell it out for you?"

Valerie nodded.

"Well your people called us Dwarves, but we called ourselves Dwemer."

Even though Valerie had expected her to say that, to hear it spoken aloud was still a shock to her. How was it even possible? All her life she had been told that the Dwarves had vanished long ago. That every single one of them had disappeared never to be seen or heard from again. For one to be stood before her now was impossible.

"But you're not short," Valerie pointed out rather unnecessarily.

"Oh, please," Wren scoffed. "Are you dense?"

"Sorry," Valerie apologised, knowing that insulting her wasn't the best idea. "It's just that there's so little known about your kind. Some say you were like children sized, others say you were average height."

Wren folded her arms. "We aren't small. Or rather we weren't small. Well, most of us weren't anyway." Wren placed her hands behind her back. "So, any more questions?"

Valerie leaned forwards. "Erm, how did you survive when all the others died?"

"I pondered that for quite sometime," Wren told her. "What I discovered wasn't really to my liking."

"What was that?"

"I wasn't really Dwemer any more."

"What were you?"

"Whatever it is I am now," she told the Nord simply.

"And you don't know what that is?"

"I'm a Mer that has lived a long time, that's what I am."

Slowly Valerie nodded. "Okay, I accept that."

"You do?" Wren questioned sceptically.

"Yes."

"You sure you're a Nord?" Wren asked half in jest.

"Yeah, We aren't the most open-minded," Valerie admitted.

"No more than any other race I suppose," Wren said. "The Khajiit and the Imperials tend to be the most accepting of other cultures from my experience."

"I guess you're right," Valerie agreed.

"Listen," Wren started, "it was nice talking to you. Enlightening in fact, but if you don't mind, I'd like some time alone to think about things."

"Of course, I'll leave you be," the Nord said to her.

"Okay."

Valerie rose up from the chair, and made her way over to the door.

"Thanks," Wren called after her. "Your understanding means a lot."

Valerie left the room and headed downstairs, heading into the kitchen. She honestly didn't think there was anything evil or monstrous about what Wren was. She just seemed lonely.

The Nord sat at the thick wooden kitchen table. She wondered for a moment if she should head out and find Meratur herself, but decided to leave it. There was a chance that she would complicate matters. For now, she would simply sit and wait. Or perhaps she would head out to see if she could find Rontag.

After a few moments, she rose up and headed out. She would head to the market to see if Rontag was there.

* * *

Meratur took a long sip of the mead that lay in the cold iron tankard. The stuff tasted absolutely disgusting, he had no clue how the Nords around him could happily drink the stuff without vomiting.

He looked across at Durza, who quaffed her drink happily, mead dribbling down her chin. For a moment, he thought about berating her over it, but then realised that Burag and Bagol had also dribbled a lot. He suspected their tusks made drinking somewhat awkward from what he had observed. They also tended to just pour it in.

The two were both sat at a table in the inn that lay by the city gates. Meratur couldn't recall the name of, but knew it was something unusual. It was a fairly high-class looking place, with a high ceiling and nice thick round tables. The sort that could probably withstand a brawl he expected Nord inns and taverns had to endure every night.

Meratur hid his face in embarrassment, as she let out a loud obnoxious belch. Her lack of manners annoyed him somewhat.

"You're not drinking," Durza observed. "Not to your liking?"

He looked down at his beverage. Out of all the different provinces he'd been, Cyrodiil, High Rock and Skyrim, he had to say that High Rock had the best drinks, and unlike here, the drinks didn't taste like a goblin had spat in it.

Slowly, he pushed the tankard away, not wanting to subject himself to any more of it.

"What's wrong?" Durza asked him, looking from his drink to him.

"Don't want it," he said.

"What, not milky enough for you?" she questioned, taking another swag of her own. She thumped the tankard down hard onto the tabletop. "That was a joke," she clarified.

"Funny," he said humourless.

"You say that, but your face, posture and tone of voice say otherwise."

"Yeah, well it's too early to drink. Not even lunchtime yet."

"You're the one that brought us here," Durza pointed out. "And you're the one that ordered the drinks."

"My mind's a bit addled."

"I can tell," she said before quaffing more drink down her neck. She wiped her mouth, before letting out another belch.

Meratur placed his elbows onto the table, resting his chin on his cupped hands. "Just feeling a little tired," he lied

"Then you should returnto the house and go back to bed," the Orc said.

"No, just need time to wake up a bit," he told her.

"Nothing on your mind then?"

"No." He didn't enjoy lying, but there was no way he could tell Durza what was really bothering him. How could he possibly explain what Wren had told him. He didn't understand it himself, so conveying that to someone else was out of the question, especially when that person was Durza.

Compared to other people, the Orc was quick to judge. There was no way she would understand. All she would want to do was to return to the house and cut Wren's head off. No, he would keep it to himself, at least for the time being.

With a loud belch, Durza slammed the tankard down on the tabletop. She gestured at his drink and he pushed it towards her. She then promptly began guzzling it down at an alarming rate. Wiping her mouth, she put the second tankard down next to hers.

"When are we heading off to Jehanna?" Durza asked suddenly.

Meratur frowned. He had completely forgotten about that, and of how the Nords felt that Magoza was alive. He didn't believe it himself, and was sure an escapade to find her could only lead to more hurt.

"That was a question," the Orc said in the absence of a verbal response.

"I guess tomorrow or something," he replied with a slight shrug.

"You don't seem certain."

"That's because I'm not certain, Durza," he said in exasperation. "I'm not certain of anything any more."

The Orc folded her arms. "You're acting very odd this morning."

"Yeah, sorry," he said, before standing up. "Fancy going for a walk down to the docks?"

"If that's where you want to go, then I'll go with you," Durza said, rising from her chair.

Meratur led the way, as the two headed out of the inn.

* * *

Valerie arrived back at Wren's house, having gone for a rather long walk. She hadn't seen Rontag at the market, and had decided to go take a look at the Blue Palace, as she had never seen it, other than from afar.

It had not been as impressive as Dragonsreach in Whiterun, at least not in her honest opinion. It didn't really even look that blue. Perhaps it needed a fresh coat of paint.

She looked around as she heard the door go, seeing Jo'Agro step into the room.

"Oh, good morning," Valerie greeted.

"Good day," the Khajiit said in return.

"Hey, been somewhere?"

"Was speaking with this one's husband, Rontag."

"Oh, where is he?"

"Rontag is still out," Jo'Agro told her. "Rontag wishes to speak with wife."

"He does?" she asked. "Well where is he?"

"Jo'Agro will lead this one to destination, if this one wishes."

"Okay, lead the way then."

Valerie followed the Khajiit outside. The Nord noted that he seemed to be heading to Castle Dour.

"He hasn't found some old friends at the castle as he?" the Nord asked.

"Perhaps," the Khajiit replied rather unhelpfully.

He led her up the cobbled street as it rose to meet an archway into the courtyard of the castle.

"This way," Jo'Agro said, leading her up a long set of stairs, before gesturing towards a door. "In there. This one must hurry inside."

Valerie folded her arms. "What's going on?" she questioned suspiciously.

"Nothing," Jo'Agro told her. "The Nord's husband Rontag is waiting inside."

"Yes, well this 'Nord' is starting to become suspicious," Valerie told him. "You're telling me that my husband is in the castle and urgently needs to see me?"

"Correct."

"No," she said defiantly, shaking her head. "Something's wrong here."

"What could be wrong?" the Khajiit questioned. "Does Nord not trust Jo'Agro?"

"No, now that I think about it I'm not sure that I do."

"Because I am Khajiit?"

She shook her head once more. "No, because you're acting strangely." She turned around to head back to Wren's house, when she bumped into someone. She stepped back to find herself staring into the face of a High-Elf, who wore unmistakable Thalmor attire. Her cheeks were dark with blush, and her eyes had a dark ring around them from far too much make-up.

The elf grabbed Valerie around the jaw, looking right into her eyes as two Thalmor soldiers stepped up to them.

"The hubris of man," the elf mocked. "You came like a dog following its master. No questions asked about the one who has already betrayed you once before." the Thalmor looked over at Jo'Agro with a cruel smile. She then turned to the guards. "Get her inside before anyone sees us!"

Before Valerie could shout out, the soldiers had grabbed her, and the elf woman was shoving a rag into her mouth. Then she tied another around her face, before gesturing at the guards.

"You will tell us where Taemwyn has gone." the High-Elf said, her malevolent smile returning once more.

Not a moment later, Valerie was being dragged inside, her hate filled gaze locking on Jo'Agro, on the backstabber.


End file.
